


The Doctor and The DI

by Knightblazer



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Post Reichenbach, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:56:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 60,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three weeks after the death of Sherlock Holmes, former DI Greg Lestrade finds himself now jobless, aimless and wandering through life without any ideas on what to do next. Hitting his lowest point one night he goes out with the intention to get himself spectacularly smashed, but things take a turn when he witnesses something that is quite impossible and literally crashes in a strange man in a tweed jacket and a bowtie who calls himself 'The Doctor'. It is there where Lestrade's life is about to take an entirely new spin - for better or for worse though, that's what he's going to discover along the way.</p><p>(A Sherlock/Doctor Who crossover that takes place after DW 7.05 'The Angels Take Manhattan' and Sherlock 2.03 'The Reichenbach Fall'. Written for <a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org">NaNoWriMo 2012</a>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, so. Wholock fic that was mostly born from a crack idea, but it took shape and is about halfway done so I'll just start posting it. It should be just a bit above 50k, though there's a good chance it'll be in the 40k range as well depending on how things go; either way, I'll be updating this about once a week in rough batches of 10k as we all approach the Christmas special. 
> 
> Just as a note, this fic has not been beta or Brit-picked, so forgive any and all errors that will come. And for the record: this story takes place in a slight AU where Sherlock and Doctor Who exist in the same universe, so Doyle never wrote the Sherlock stories in Doctor Who while Doctor Who never existed as a show in Sherlock. Just in case anybody is wondering about that. With that said, please do enjoy the story!

_Sitting here now within the four walls of this particular office, Lestrade could easily count and remember the times he had been in here, although none of them had ever been for something like this. Then again, there really wasn’t anything like this—and for good reason too, what with everything that had happened. He certainly knew enough to know what was coming next for him, and how his life was going to be in the next few months._

_“Lestrade.”_

_He looked up into the hard gaze of the Chief Superintendent, mentally steeling himself for what was going to be one of the hardest moments of his life. “Sir.”_

_There was a pause as the man looked at him quietly, not-so-discreetly eyeing him in a manner that screamed nothing but apprehension and distrust. It wasn’t hard to figure out why of course, but the reality of his situation never failed to sting him. Twenty years of his life spent in here, and now here he was about to be dismissed within the next five minutes. People were never good, he knew, but it always hurt when he had to be forcibly reminded about that—even more so now, considering everything._

_Lestrade kept his expression neutral, letting his boss (soon to be former boss, to be precise) look at him for a few more moments before the other finally stopped. The Chief Superintendent dropped his gaze down to the desk and sighed, shaking his head. “Twenty years, Lestrade. Twenty years and you’ve always proved yourself a worthy man; a good man dedicated to this job. It’s a shame that it had to end like this.” He flipped through what Lestrade quickly figured would be for his discharge from the force. “Shame it had to end because of making the mistake of trusting the one person you shouldn’t have trusted.”_

But it wasn’t a mistake, _Lestrade thought to himself as he clenched his fists, willing himself to not do anything foolish._ Sherlock had never been a mistake. _He had been many things—mad, irritating, annoying, absolutely aggregating… but certainly not a murderer, and never ever a mistake. He had been a good man—a great man, all the way until the end. The only mistake Lestrade could see here was that he had unwittingly played a part in making it happen in the first place. He shouldn’t have ever doubted Sherlock at all, not with what he had seen and known… but he had, and because of that it had led Sherlock to take his own life. He was not one to make wishes, but right now Lestrade wished he could go back to that moment and berate himself for that instant of doubt, that one second that sealed the fate of one of the greatest men he had ever known._

_“—it’s hard for us to do this, given your work, but you need to know that this is for the best,” the voice of the Chief Superintendent floated back to him, and Lestrade reluctantly pulled himself out from his thoughts and mentally recited to himself on the hundred and one ways as to why punching your former boss would still be a fundamentally bad idea, even with the bullshit that was spewing out from his mouth. “We can’t risk another incident like this. Our standing with the public is bad enough as it is after Moriarty’s trial, and we can’t afford to lose their trust any further…”_

You mean you don’t want to lose face, _Lestrade thought viciously, although he managed to keep his face straight. But he really couldn’t listen to this any longer; he sucked in a breath and spoke up loudly, cutting into the Chief Superintendent’s words. “Sir, I’ve been here long enough to understand the situation. I’ll accept whatever decision that has been made without a fuss.”_

_The words shut the man up rather effectively, if Lestrade had anything to say about it. He watched with grim pleasure at the way his (former) boss simply kept quiet, staring at him as if he had grown another head for a bit before managing to recollect himself with a cough. “I—well, yes,” he started, nearly fumbling, “Very well.”_

_He glanced at the papers one more time before he put them back properly and passing it over to Lestrade. “These are the papers for your immediate discharge from the force. Despite your… involvement, we still agree that it wouldn’t be right to overlook your contributions entirely, so you’ll receive half of your pension. It’ll be credited into your bank account, of course.” The man then moved to gesture at the papers, explaining them. “There’s a non-disclosure agreement for you to sign as well, relating to the involvement of your work with that of Sherlock Holmes. You agree to not disclose anything about your relationship to Sherlock to the press or any other media ventures upon signing this agreement. Should you break it, your pension will be withdrawn from you and if necessary, you will be prosecuted and placed under trial.”_

All of this just to save their own faces, _Lestrade thought bitterly this time, already feeling a sour taste starting to form in his mouth. To think that these were the people had had worked for the last half of his life. Only years of experience with dealing with the media stopped him from letting the dark thoughts cross his face, still keeping it plain as he took up a pen and signed on the papers, sealing his own fate with two pen strokes._

_With this, he was no longer DI Greg Lestrade. He was just plain old Greg Lestrade again, the forty over year old man with barely anything to his name. A man who had caused the suicide of another._

_A man who had failed._

* * *

It had been three weeks since the end of everything—Sherlock, his job, his _life_ —and Greg Lestrade could already feel the lack of everything starting to wear on him.

Twenty years. Twenty years of busy days and hectic nights, unpredictable schedules and general chaos. Twenty years of his life now washed away in the blink of an eye, and with little else left for him now it wasn’t hard to not feel the emptiness clawing at him. A year ago and he would at least still have his wife, but even now that was gone. Adeline had left London the moment their divorce finalized, and his busy schedule never had allowed them the opportunity to have kids of any sort. All the better, perhaps, because at least they would never have to suffer through this.

 _Small mercies and all that, I suppose,_ he thought darkly, downing yet another glass of rum—what number it was now, he really didn’t bother to care anymore. It had been ages since he had allowed himself to drink carelessly like this, but it wasn’t as if he was a policeman anymore, either. He could be as pissed as he wanted to and nobody would care about it; not his former colleagues, not his wife and certainly not John Watson. That much was clear when he went over to Baker Street earlier on. Not that Lestrade could blame him for that. He hated himself too.

_(“Will apologizing bring back Sherlock?”_

_“John, you know that I never wanted this to happen—”_

_“I’m sorry if I find that hard to believe, Greg.”_

_“John—”_

_“Just… I can’t do this, Greg. Just go. Please.”)_

_I hope you’re happy, you arse._ Lestrade grabbed his shot glass once it was refilled, downing it instantly and felt the burn of alcohol quickly working its way down his throat. Twenty years he had done nothing else but devoted himself to his work, and yet all he got in return was this. He had never asked for much, but to just let this all happen, to see everything he had worked for simply dragged down into the mud… it hurt. It really, really hurt. A lot. Sometimes it just went to show that being a nice man wasn’t going to do you much good when you needed it.

Lestrade, of course, knew that John was mostly speaking out of anger and spite—the doctor had always been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, obvious enough by the constant looks of awe and wonder he gave to Sherlock from the first time he had seen the two together. Unlike what the rest of the Yard thought he did know that the two of them weren’t actually shagging each other senseless—but there was a definite closeness between them, a friendship between two unlikely individuals. They had been the best of mates, really, and Lestrade had been glad for it; Sherlock had been getting better ever since John appeared in their lives and he could tell that the two of them had meant something to one another. To see your best mate jump to his death right in front of you… Lestrade could only barely begin to imagine how that must have felt. Not a surprise, then, for John to hate him so much after it all, considering the fact that he forced Sherlock into a fugitive in the first place. If only he could turn back time.

If only.

The man snorted at that thought as he shook his head, banishing the idea out from his mind as quickly as it had came. He was really getting drunk, if he was starting to think such mad thoughts. A part of him was tempted to just stay here and drink more, but he wasn’t that suicidal (at least, not yet)—as pissed as he was, he’d pass out on the couch as soon as he got back home. If he could even call that miserable flat of his a home in the first place.

Tossing the bill onto the counter, Lestrade pushed himself out of his seat, stumbling momentarily as he orientated himself proper. He wasn’t that wholly drunk at the very least, although that did little to ease his own comfort. He was still pretty damned pissed, after all. Luckily the bar wasn’t that wholly crowded, so he managed to get out of the place with minimal incident.

The wind bit at him the instant he stumbled out into the open, feeling the chill prickle across his skin. It was one of those dreary sorts of nights where it seemed like it was going to rain but wasn’t. It was cold though—horribly cold, and the thin coat that Lestrade wore over did little to protect him from it. He shivered as the wind blew; huddling as much as he could into his coat to retain whatever possible warmth he could derive from it. Obviously that didn’t do much, and the wind only blew stronger afterward, quickly dispelling any remaining warmth that he had. Lestrade had to duck into a nearby alley in order to protect himself from the freezing winds, crouching down to the ground as he tucked himself into the closest imitation of a ball he could manage even as his body shivered badly in the growing cold.

Tucking his chin in the space between his folded arms and chest, Lestrade silently brooded about the current state of his life. He was in his mid-forties, divorced without any kids, jobless with barely enough to make ends meet and pretty much friendless. He never could maintain any close friendships due to his work, and now that he was out of the force there was nobody who would talk to him—nobody who was _willing_ to, after his ‘disgrace’ from the Yard.

Twenty years in the Met and here he was now: cold, jobless, divorced and near broke. Lestrade hated it.

The wind picked up once more, this time howling through the streets. Lestrade tucked himself in tighter, eyes squeezing shut as he tried to ignore the cold and the frost biting at him. He wasn’t too sure how much longer he could stand this, but he supposed it would be a hell of a joke if he died right here from the cold. Nobody would miss him, of course, but then again there was never any reason for anyone to miss him in the first place. Maybe his siblings, perhaps, but they all had gone on their separate ways since the passing of their parents about five years ago. No reason for him to be missed, then.

Lestrade sighed quietly at that thought, watching his breath drift off in a wisp of steam. The cold was growing and it seemed to be only getting worse from here on; it certainly wasn’t going to clear in the next hour either. It looked like he was going to have to drag himself back home—never a pleasant task, especially when you were already half-drunk. Still, it was better than possibly dying out here. As bad as his life might be now, he wasn’t on the point of being suicidal. Enough people took their lives as it was and Lestrade had no desire to add to that number. It certainly wouldn’t help him.

At least he hadn’t gone to a bar too far from where he lived—his flat certainly was within walking distance, but he was going to have to battle against the cold to make it there. Lestrade sucked in a breath to ready himself before he pushed himself to stand up again, brushing the dust on his hands off on his trousers and tucked them into the pockets of his coat. Just ten minutes of walking in the cold, he told himself, and he would be back in somewhere decently warm—

“Oof!”

Somebody barrelled straight at him, crashing right into his side and caused Lestrade to lose his balance. Only the nearby wall and still surprisingly quick reflexes prevented him from falling over entirely, although it was still a close thing. Lestrade stumbled back, one hand pressed against the wall to steady himself as he looked over his shoulder to the bloke who had run into him, having half a mind to tell him off. His senses caught up with him before he could do so though, and even in the dark he quickly noticed that the man was wearing an expensive business suit—almost the kind Mycroft would take to wearing—but it was in absolute tatters, with bits of it still hanging off from the man’s shoulders. The man himself didn’t seem to be in good shape either, judging from the bruises and bits of blood he could see. A mugging, perhaps?

Only one way to find out. Lestrade moved away from the wall and towards the man, slowly reaching out to tap the man on the shoulder. “Sir, is there something wro—”

It happened before Lestrade could even finish his question. One moment the man was curled up on the floor and shivering, and the next instant he _moved_ , hands grabbing at his wrist and Lestrade let out a shout of surprise as he was yanked down, falling over once again. He managed to stop himself short of doing so by bracing his other hand onto the ground to support him, although he could feel the strain quickly starting to burn his arm muscles. Lestrade steadied himself, shifting the best he could while the man still clutched at his other wrist like a lifeline. He tried to speak again. “Sir, you really should—”

“…me…”

Lestrade stopped talking when he heard that, turning his head around properly so that he faced the man who now raised his head to look back at Lestrade. The man’s face was pale and gaunt, although Lestrade could see skin hanging loosely from his cheeks—very loosely, as it were. It seemed a bit too unreal if he had to be honest about it. Looking at the man proper now, it seemed more like somebody who was wearing his own skin three sizes too small. Not that anybody could wear their own skin three sizes too small; that would just be ludicrous. As well as outright impossible.

At least working with Sherlock had made him used to dealing with strange events such as this. Lestrade easily fell back to his old DI persona as he looked at the man’s wild eyes, attempting to speak as gently as he could. “Sir, if you would release me I’m sure we can talk this out properly—”

“—me,” the man gasped out, cutting into Lestrade’s words again as his eyes shone even brighter. His hands moved to grab at the lapels of Lestrade’s coat, clenching them between his fingers as he cried once more. _“Help me!”_

Mugging, most certainly, and possibly with a rather unpleasant group as well if it had caused the man to react like this. Lestrade took a moment to steel himself for what he possibly needed to do soon and looked at the man again, nodding slightly. “Of course, sir, but only as soon as you let go of me.”

The man only shook his head frantically at that, his desperation becoming all the more evident as he looked at Lestrade again and wheezed out. “It’s coming, it’s coming. Help me!”

‘It?’ Lestrade frowned at the strange choice of pronoun—this wasn’t the country, so it wouldn’t make sense for there to be animal attacks. Did somebody let loose a wild dog here or something? The thought of that certainly wasn’t comforting, but Lestrade knew that it could be worse. If it was a wild dog, then he’d just have to call animal services instead.

Still, he needed to get the man away first. Lestrade shifted again, trying to get his hand back from the man’s grip as he spoke. “Alright, alright. Just let me go, and then I can get you out of here—”

“It’s coming,” the man cut in yet again, voice shaking as he looked back at Lestrade, eyes wide and pleading. “It’s coming, it’s coming— _help me_ —”

Lestrade opened his mouth, wanting to ask just exactly what was it that had made the man so frightened, but before he could even get a word out there was a loud _shlick_ sound from almost nowhere and the next thing he knew, there was _something_ wrapped around the man’s throat. Lestrade instinctively shrank back, staring in shock at the tentacle like appendage before the man let out a strained gasp, causing him to look up and what Lestrade saw next instantly sent him panicking.

Right before his eyes he saw the man shrinking—literally _shrinking_ —skin hanging even more off him as the man opened his mouth in a silent scream. Lestrade could _feel_ the bones of the man’s fingers dissolving as they slackened around his wrist, falling flat like a balloon that had lost the air inside of it. He backed away without thinking, stumbling as he watched in horror at the man who was just whittling away in an almost cartoonish like manner. Everything in the body was all just simply sucked out like juice from a straw, leaving nothing but skin and a ruined bespoke suit.

Lestrade knew that he should run, should get the hell out of here but fear rooted him to the ground, keeping him stuck as he watched the tentacle slide off from what remained of the man and could hear _something_ coming towards him. He could feel himself shaking in fear as he slowly made himself look up… towards the thing stepping out of the shadows. The closest approximation that Lestrade could give now was that it was a giant centipede, except with tentacles for legs and a lot more hair than he remembered centipedes having. There was a pause as Lestrade stared at the thing, eyes wide as he glanced up and down, still quite unable to believe his eyes. He had his experience on dealing with the strange and the mad no thanks to Sherlock, but this—this was a whole new level of ‘strange’. He continued to look at the… thing, gulping quietly as he willed his feet to start moving again.

Of course, that’s when the eyes appeared. Hundreds of them.

Lestrade froze again as he now found himself looking at hundreds of beady red eyes, knowing full well that every single one of them was staring right back at him. He could feel cold sweat starting to break out at the back of his neck, and Lestrade knew full well that it was really time for him to leave now.

“I’ll just…” he started, gesturing weakly to the street behind him. “…uh, go. Now.” He slowly stepped back, cautiously making his way out of the alley without ever breaking eye contact with the giant centipede-like thing. It simply kept staring at him, its countless red eyes never blinking, and Lestrade gulped again as he neared the streets, hoping that his luck hadn’t ran out.

As Murphy’s Law dictated however, whatever could go wrong, _would_ go wrong, and the moment Lestrade stepped out of the shadows of the alley the thing let out a terrifying screech and sent a tentacle flying towards him. Only years of finely honed instincts allowed Lestrade to jump away from the trajectory of the tentacle and avoid it entirely. Still, that didn't help him in managing a proper landing, and Lestrade grunted as he fell on his side, pain running up his shoulder from the impact. Lestrade cursed mentally as he rolled over, pushing himself up as fast as he could as the thing recovered from its failed attack. He didn't need to be a genius to know that he was clearly outmatched here, and that he needed to get the hell out of here before it tried to attack him again.

He stumbled back for a couple of steps as he attempted to move backwards, still keeping his eyes on the giant centipede of death as it recollected itself. When the red eyes looked at him again Lestrade couldn't help but freeze up for a moment, fear gripping him so tightly he couldn't even remember the last time he had felt this frightened. His first raid, perhaps, or the first time he met Mycroft Holmes after having arrested Sherlock for trespassing on his crime scene.

_Focus, Lestrade!_

The man managed to snap himself out of it just before the thing let loose another tentacle, and Lestrade jumped back this time, stumbling when he landed but just managing to not fall. As the centipede screamed out its apparent frustration (it seemed as such to Lestrade, anyway—the thing might not be human but he met enough killers to understand their general reactions) he quickly turned tail and ran, fleeing for his life.

As he ran Lestrade could feel the cold biting into him, quickly sapping at his strength. Still, he had been in worse conditions than this before, and none of them had been as terrifying as this one. Lestrade gritted his teeth and pushed himself harder, quickening his pace. He knew he was probably going to pay for this later, but being sore was a lot better than being alive—

“Oof!”

And for the second time that night, Lestrade once more found himself crashing into yet _another_ person. It wasn't the most graceful collision by any standard, and the impact had sent them both tumbling down to the ground, ending with Lestrade smashing his other shoulder to the hard floor. Great, now that made both of his shoulders sore and throbbing. Not only that, the person he had crashed into had fallen on top of him as well; Lestrade could feel the other's weight pressing on him, pinning him down rather securely.

Grimacing, Lestrade let out a pained groan as he opened his eyes, about to ask if the other person could just kindly get off him when he noticed that said other person—other _man_ , to be precise—already had his eyes open and was staring at Lestrade in a look that he could best describe as something between amazement and excitement.

“Oh,” the man started, blinking as he stared at Lestrade's face for another few moments before abruptly breaking into a big, delighted smile that only served to highlight his boyish features (big, bright eyes, messy hair and an _impossible_ chin). “ _Oh_ , hello! Now here's a face I've certainly missed!”

Saying that, he then proceeded to grab Lestrade's face between his hands and leaned in, cheeks brushing as the man did... something. Lestrade wasn't quite sure what to call it. The man did the same to the other side of his face as well, leaving Lestrade bewildered and at a loss as the man drew back, still smiling.

Lestrade managed to find his words again only after a few beats, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he finally settled with an unintelligible “Um”. That... really had not been the reaction he had been expecting from a bloke who he had literally barrelled into. Not to mention the fact that the man was still lying on top of him and it was kind of getting rather uncomfortable having his ribs crushed like this.

Fortunately, the man seemed to have noticed that as well, and he made another 'oh' of surprise. “Right. I should probably get off you before you run out of air... lungs are so terribly inconvenient at times.” With that strange comment the man finally did get off him, and Lestrade coughed as he felt air rushing back into his lungs. At least that was one crisis averted.

Lestrade had planned to lie down there for a bit in order to regain his breath as well as his strength, but then the man's face was hovering above his own once more just after a few beats, a somewhat cross expression now on it.

“Do you just plan to lie down there all night?” he asked, sounding quite cross indeed. “Get up now, come on. We've got a Xenokin to negotiate with.”

Xeno—what? Lestrade blinked at that, not quite certain if he was actually hearing things right. Did the crash meddle with his senses or something? “What?” was all that he could manage back out.

All the man did was to scowl. “Negotiate! Talk to! We can't have it taking more lives here now, can it? We need to stop it before UNIT or Torchwood decides to take matters into their own hands.” He scowled even more at the last part, most likely because the man had some bad experiences with this 'Torchwood' or something like that. It certainly felt that way to him—

—although none of that was really helping Lestrade in understanding just what exactly was going on here.

“Sorry,” he finally managed to bring himself to ask, “But what exactly is going on here? You lost me at 'Xenokin'.” Whatever that was, anyway.

The man pursed his lips at the question, making his already ridiculous-looking chin all the more impossible. Or maybe that was because Lestrade was still on the ground and the man had already stood up. He pushed himself up to his feet as well, attempting to ignore the throbbing pain in his shoulders. He really was going to regret this later, but at least he was out of danger—the giant centipede hadn't seemed to come after him.

“Xenokin!” the man exclaimed out once Lestrade was on his feet again. “Originally from the planet Entoes, but when their planet died out they were forced to become nomads. Not the pleasant kind either, considering that they're carnivores and they're always very hungry. They're dying out now because their hunger drives to eat one another when pushed to extremes, very nasty business. It's a miracle that one of them even managed to get here—Earth's a long way from the Orteck Galaxy.” He twirled around, tweed jacket (who even wears a tweed jacket these days?) whirling around him as he turned back to Lestrade and grinned very much like a child in a toy shop. “Imagine what we could learn if it wasn't paralyzed by its own hunger!”

Lestrade could only stare back at the man, this time at a complete loss for words. There were just so many things wrong with that sentence he didn't even know where to start—the fact that he met a carnivorous centipede or the fact that they came from bloody _space_. Which meant that they were aliens.

Alien centipedes. Just what he needed to make his night.

“You're getting pale,” the man noted absently as he tilted his head. “You're at a loss for words because you're still trying to accept the fact that—well, I suppose it might be a surprise, considering all you ever saw were dinosaurs on a spaceship.” The man hummed under his breath for a few moments as Lestrade only found himself trying to wrap his head around _dinosaurs on a spaceship_. Just who was this man? And how did he know him?

Lestrade opened his mouth with the intention to ask just that question when the man let out a loud 'hah!' and twirled around again, clearly quite pleased with himself. “It's time to get you back in the game, old friend!” he exclaimed, reaching over to grab Lestrade by his wrist. “We've got no more time to waste. Let's go!”

“Wha—” Lestrade started to speak, but couldn't manage to get any further than that as he found himself being abruptly dragged off by the other man. He yelped in surprise, stumbling forward, but the man's hold on his wrist prevented him from falling onto the ground once again. Small mercies, but this one not as comforting as he had hoped it would be.

Too surprised to react properly, Lestrade could do little else but let himself be dragged back down the street he had run up from earlier. It didn't take long after that as well to realize that the man was bringing him right down the path he had been running just minutes ago—and also right back towards the alley where he had seen the centipede... the giant alien centipede.

Obviously, he began to panic once he figured out where he was being brought to. “This really isn't a good idea.” He had seen the thing kill somebody right before his eyes, for god's sake. There was no way that either of them were going to make it out of there alive.

The man turned over to Lestrade at that and sent him another frown. “It's a perfectly good idea, what are you even saying?” he replied, sounding rather displeased that Lestrade had even suggested that.

“No. No, it’s not a good idea. We should just get out of here before it sees us.” Lestrade wasn't even sure what he was even doing now, arguing with a strange man over meeting a giant alien centipede. A giant, alien _murdering_ centipede at that, which was so far beyond the realm of normal and sane Lestrade was now half convinced that he had knocked his head when he fell and was currently unconscious somewhere else. There was really just no way that this was actually happening to him right now. It was just too bloody surreal.

All that the man did in response was to break into a grin. “Exactly! We need to get its attention. You're brilliant, have I ever mentioned that?” As if to prove his point he spun around, never letting go of Lestrade while he did that—which of course meant that Lestrade had to spin around with him.

It was a very strange experience.

“Absolutely brilliant,” the man echoed, grinning even more as he leaned in again and... did that thing he did earlier. What was up with that anyway? Lestrade blinked as the man pulled back, grabbing his wrist once more. “But we've really got no time to waste. To the Xenokin we go!” Saying that, he took off, unceremoniously dragging Lestrade behind him.

There wasn’t much else that Lestrade could do besides trying not to fall flat on his face ( _again_ , that is)—the man was surprisingly strong despite the lanky frame, the grip around his wrist very much like an iron band. He stumbled behind the man, attempting to keep his balance even as the other dragged him down the streets, trying to keep up with him. Considering that he was half-drunk (or at least, there still had to be a fairly decent amount of alcohol still left in his system), Lestrade privately thought that he was doing a decent job of ensuring that his feet weren’t tangled together.

The way back wasn’t too long; Lestrade hadn’t run down that far before bumping into the man, and within minutes they were back at the entrance of the same alley he had run out from earlier. The centipede—Xenokin—wasn’t here anymore, a fact that did make Lestrade let out a sigh of relief. Right, well, it must have gone away once Lestrade had fled, so there was no more reason why he had to go back inside—

“It must have gone back inside,” the man mused as he peered into the shadows, already starting to tug Lestrade along yet again. “We can’t waste another moment. Come along now!”

“Wha—” Lestrade started, but quickly cut himself off when he stumbled on behind the man once more, going right back into the alleyway.

The reaction was instant. The moment both of them stepped into the shadows Lestrade could hear the skittering of _something_ across the floor—possibly the tentacles. How anything could move with tentacles here he had no idea, but it wasn’t as if he could anyway. Alien, after all. Although it was all still a little hard to believe, to be honest. Lestrade still kept his theory that he was dreaming up all of this.

At the very least the man finally stopped moving when the sound came, slowly tilting his head in order to listen to said sound more clearly. “It must have sensed us,” the man mused once more, absently letting go of Lestrade’s wrist who took it back with a grimace. Well, if it had already ‘sensed’ them then it was clear that he couldn’t get away now—not unless he wanted to end up like that man from earlier. As far as deaths went, that certainly wasn’t one he wanted to imagine himself having.

As if having read his mind, the man raised a hand to get Lestrade’s attention, speaking. “No sudden movements, no running. The Xenokin uses those spilt seconds to attack, and they’ll get you faster before your brain can register what’s going on. Their tentacles suck all the insides out first and then eat the skin afterward. You know, like a piece of crispy chicken.”

“Thanks for that analogy,” Lestrade muttered back in return, his mind cringing slightly at the comparison. So they were basically deep fried chicken to the Xenokin. Good to know.

The man glanced back at him, blinking for a moment before he smiled, somehow pleased. “You’re welcome,” he returned, right before the skittering abruptly increased in volume and the Xenokin appeared once more. It was already bad enough to have seen it, but to be this close to it was another thing entirely. Lestrade could feel himself freezing up at the sight of all those tentacles slithering around the alien, knowing that any one of them could easily end his life—even if his life had gone to the dogs, Lestrade had no desire to die just yet. Or at least, he thought as he stared at the towering form of the Xenokin, he hoped he wasn’t going to die tonight.

The man clapped his hands as he took two steps forward towards the Xenokin, smiling gaily. “Well, hello there! It’s so very nice to meet you,” he started, sounding a bit too pleased for it to be normal, considering the fact that he was talking with a giant murdering alien centipede. “I’m the Doctor, and you are…?”

 _The Doctor?_ Lestrade thought with a blink, frowning soon after. Was that supposed to be some sort of title? Blokes just don’t go around calling himself ‘The Doctor’ after all—and for that matter, Doctor _who_ , precisely? Certainly there had to be some sort of name tacked at the end.

He stopped in his train of thought when the alien replied—or at least, if one could call a series of spluttering screeches as a response. It was a bit like watching a parrot trying to speak. Still, it did seem like the alien did seem to say something legible, because the man was nodding vigorously to said screeching and answering in return. “Well, yes, according to the Shadow Proclamation you are allowed to stay here, although it certainly doesn’t include _killing_ any of the life forms.”

More screeching happened, and Lestrade watched as the other took it all in, confusion on his features at first before it followed up with astonishment, and the man—Doctor—gaped at it. “They _intruded_ on you?” he echoed aloud, surprise clear in his voice. “As you’ve just said, this is _their_ planet! Just because you’ve landed here certainly doesn’t make it _yours_ —except for your ship, of course, but still—”

The Xenokin cut him off with another series of screeches, which Lestrade couldn’t help but cringe at because they were starting to get rather loud in volume. The Doctor, on the other hand, remained perfectly unaffected, although it seemed that he wasn’t at all pleased with what had been said.

“Oh no no no,” the Doctor returned, frowning visibly this time. “Whatever governs the Orteck galaxy doesn’t apply here, you know. We’re in a completely different part of the universe here, and your rules don’t work here.” He crossed his arms, giving the Xenokin a stern look. “This is a fully established level five planet, which means you lot can’t just waltz in here and kill humans for the sake of food! I know it’s only because you’re hungry, but that still doesn’t mean you can just—”

Again, the Doctor was cut off by the Xenokin once more, who only screeched some more while rearing itself up, its numerous red eyes blinking in an uncoordinated pattern. Lestrade privately thought it was a bit like seeing the lights on a Christmas tree—a very ugly, very… un-Christmas-like tree, but still.

God, he must be going mad if he was starting to compare a giant alien centipede to a Christmas tree.

“Oy! What d’you mean, ‘nobody would notice’? Somebody’s already noticed, don’t you know?” The Doctor exclaimed, gesturing to Lestrade as he said that, causing the man to blink in surprise while the Doctor continued, “Now, what do you think will happen when more people start to get involved, hm? It’s only a matter of time then before they discover your ship, and I can assure you that things will be quite unpleasant for you then. That’s the last thing you or I want to happen, I’m sure.”

The Xenokin’s response was to rear up a little higher, letting out another round of spluttering screeches that still made no sense to Lestrade whatsoever. If anything, he only ended up cringing again, squeezing his eyes shut and covered his ears as well for measure, because there was only so much his eardrums could take for one night.

He opened his eyes once the worst of the screeching had past, slowly uncovering his ears as he heard the Doctor continue to ramble on about something or other. It was rather hard to concentrate on what the other man was saying when he noticed that there was a tentacle slithering in a rather odd manner. Or at the very least, it didn’t seem to be acting like how the other tentacles were.

Feeling his gut instincts kicking in, Lestrade allowed his eyes to follow said tentacle to see where it was extending to. He could feel a tinge of worry starting to pluck in his mind as he gazed to the size of the alley, seeing it slithering at the bottom… turning around… and Lestrade felt a punch of dread when he saw that the tentacle was heading straight for the Doctor, only moments away before it could strike. He didn’t even bother to think twice before acting, moving as soon as his instincts screamed for him to do so.

“Behind you!” he shouted, right before he lunged forward. The Doctor only had a moment to turn around and see the tentacle lashing straight at him before Lestrade tackled him down to the ground just moments before the appendage struck him. Behind them the Xenokin started to screech its frustration, and Lestrade took that moment to haul the Doctor up to his feet, not even giving the other man a chance to talk as he bodily dragged him back out of the alley.

The Doctor seemed visibly unimpressed the moment they were back out, claiming his wrist back from Lestrade and rubbing it absently. “Be gentler now, will you? There’s a reason why I usually do the dragging, not the other way around.”

Lestrade resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Is that what you’re concerned about? I just saved your life, you know.”

Rather than being thankful though, the Doctor only scoffed. “Rubbish, I had it all perfectly under control—”

The Xenokin chose that moment to interrupt, screeching once more as another tentacle was sent flying their way. The duo quickly dodged it, backing off so as to put as much distance between them and the alien as far as possible. Lestrade could see the Xenokin emerging out from the shadows of the alley, red eyes gleaming in a way that only reminded Lestrade of the giant dog back in that hollow.

No time to reminisce about the past, though. Lestrade moved to grab the Doctor once more, dragging him down the street this time as they ran from the Xenokin. Unlike before this time the Xenokin was moving to chase after them, the sound of its skittering audible to his ears as the alien screeched.

“He says that we’d make a good snack,” the Doctor helpfully translated.

Lestrade grimaced and turned back to face the front. “I really didn’t need to know that, thanks.”

“Always happy to help,” the man returned, beaming momentarily before he started to pick up the pace and soon enough he was the one dragging Lestrade down the street. Again. “No time to waste, come on. Let’s bring this elsewhere before anyone else gets hurt.”

Well, that was something that Lestrade could agree to, at least. He still wasn’t quite certain what exactly was going on—or if this was actually real in the first place—but what he was certain about was that the Doctor (whoever he exactly was) seemed to be rather clear about the situation. And if anything, Lestrade had learned it was always best to go with the one who had the plan. No matter how mad it might seem to be at first.

He let out an exhale, mentally steeling himself for whatever would happen as he continued to go with the Doctor down the street, turning around the corner when he did and following the other man as they both ducked behind a stack of crates in another alleyway. Lestrade allowed himself to slump against the crates as soon as he managed to get behind them, catching his breath. Beside him the Doctor did likewise, although he took a notably shorter time to recover than Lestrade did.

Must be nice, being young and healthy still. Lestrade huffed at that thought, quickly pushing it at the back of his mind as he glanced over to the other man. “So,” he started, noting that the Doctor was rummaging through the inside of his tweed jacket with great concentration. “What’s the plan?”

The Doctor didn’t respond to the question and only kept going through his pockets, muttering to himself rather insistently as he frowned.

Lestrade gave the Doctor a few seconds before he tried asking again. “...Doctor—”

“Aha!” the man exclaimed happily as he jumped back up on his feet and spun around once more, clearly pleased about something. “And you thought you could escape from me, didn’t you?”

And now Lestrade officially had no idea what was going on. “Doctor, what—”

The Doctor finally looked at Lestrade then, blinking at him for a few moments before he broke into a wide grin. “Oh, nothing really. I just found something that I had been looking for awhile already.” Saying that, he flashed the all important item he had been looking for to Lestrade...

...which turned out to be a box of Jammie Dodgers.

A beat of silence.

 _“Jammie Dodgers?!”_ Lestrade nearly shouted out, confusion very clear in his voice. Here he thought the Doctor was finding something to help them, and all this time he was finding a bloody box of Jammie Dodgers?! Did the Doctor not understand that a giant murderous alien centipede was after them?!

All the Doctor did was to smile again, somehow not at all concerned about the same things that Lestrade was currently worried about. “Jammie Dodgers!” he exclaimed once more before settling back down beside Lestrade and opened the box without preamble.

Lestrade could only watch in amazement as the Doctor munched on said Jammie Dodgers rather unconcernedly, feeling very certain now that he _had_ to be dreaming all of this up. He lost his job, found out that aliens apparently did exist, watched somebody got murdered before he had to start running for his life and now here he was, hiding behind a stack of crates from said murdering alien and watching a madman eating a Jammie Dodger. The world had definitely gone mad, indeed.

The man took a few moments to recollect himself, rubbing his jaw before speaking. “Is this really the time to be eating Jammie Dodgers?"

The Doctor’s response to the question was to look over at Lestrade and grin rather unabashedly. “Always time!” he chirped back as the man held out a Dodger towards him. “I’m always open for sharing if you want one.”

Oh god, this was not going the way he thought. Lestrade rubbed his jaw again, trying to ignore the panic that was slowly creeping its way into his mind. “There’s a thing after us and you’re more concerned with eating a Jammie Dodger?” As if Sherlock hadn’t been eccentric enough—it was just his luck that he met somebody who could possibly give the consulting detective a run for his money in the strange department had he been alive.

...right, putting that out of his mind now.

He turned back to the Doctor, who was currently humming under his breath while scratching his chin in what supposedly seemed to be a thoughtful gesture. “Do you think we could get some tea nearby?” he went after a pause.

Lestrade finally gave in the urge and pressed a palm against his face. First Jammie Dodgers, and now he was asking for _tea_. Dear god, the world really had gone mad while he wasn’t watching. “There is a _thing_ after us,” he repeated himself, gesturing over the crates they were hiding behind, hoping that this time the Doctor would get the message.

“Oy!” the Doctor shouted, a displeased look crossing his face. “It’s not a _thing_ , it’s a Xenokin. Would you like it if I called you a ‘thing’?” He asked back, emphasizing his point by jabbing a finger at Lestrade’s chest.

Of all the things, was that what he was worried about? Lestrade squeezed his eyes shut, mentally counting to ten as he sucked in a breath and willed himself to not do anything that he would regret soon after.

As he did that the Doctor seemed to have taken his silence as an agreement, and so had already moved on. The man scratched his chin once more, seemingly mulling over something for another few more moments before asking aloud once more. “Do you think it knows where the tea shop might be?”

Dreaming. He was definitely dreaming all of this.

“You’re completely missing the point here!” Lestrade hissed back, already starting to hear that dreaded sound of skittering coming from the distance. They had to start moving now, before the thing—Xenokin—found them and decided to test its theory on comparing them to fried chicken.

The Doctor let out a shout then and clapped his hands, turning to grin at Lestrade. “You’re right! Of course you are, you can’t have tea with Dodgers after all.” He sounded triumphant as he said that, almost as if he had figured something very important when it obviously wasn’t. Lestrade had to stop himself from facepalming twice in five minutes, a feat that only grew harder to accomplish as the Doctor continued. “Obviously we need something fizzy! I have a special straw for that, you know. It makes the fizz a lot more fizzier.”

He really, really had to be dreaming right now, because there was no way reality could have made a man who was more concerned about Jammie Dodgers and fizzy drinks rather than the fact that there was an alien about to kill them. Lestrade grabbed the Doctor by his shoulder, making sure that he had the other’s full attention as he hissed again. “We don’t need drinks or Dodgers, we need to move before that thing finds us!”

This time the Doctor only took a moment to think about it before he nodded. “You’re right, it’ll only steal them.”

Of course, that was the precise moment when the skittering stopped and the sputtering screeches started—coming from right behind them both.

The two men turned to at each other for a few beats before the Doctor inevitably broke the silence.

“Okay,” he started, only to stop when he held up a hand, trying to make a gesture but ended up failing to do so. The duo continued to stare at one another for a couple more seconds before the Xenokin screeched once again.

The Doctor seemed to take that as his cue to finish what he had wanted to say. “Run!”

 _Finally!_ Lestrade remarked in his own head as the both of them scrambled off just before a tentacle slammed down where they had been moments ago. The Xenokin let loose another screech, the sound crying through the night, and if anything Lestrade was pretty sure that they had gotten a fair bit of attention by now—neither of them had been particularly quiet ever since this all started.

The Doctor seemed to realize this too, because he was already moving to grab Lestrade’s wrist and drag him off once more, asking him as they fled down the alley. “Do you know anywhere we can hide out before the crowd starts to gather?”

Lestrade glanced around the surroundings after that question, frowning as he tried to place their current location to the parts of London he was familiar with. He knew that they hadn’t gone too far from the bar he had been earlier, so if his guess was right then they should be close enough to his place.

“I’ve got a place,” he replied, turning them around so that they were facing in the right direction and started to move quickly as he heard the approaching murmurs of a gathering crowd. “Follow me.”

* * *

Lestrade threw himself onto the couch as soon as he was certain that the door was locked securely, letting out a sigh of relief he hadn’t known he was holding back. The Doctor settled down on the space besides Lestrade, eyes darting around as the man took in his place with obvious interest.

A few minutes of silence passed between them as Lestrade regained his breath (they had to run a fair bit at the last stretch to his flat), and once he did so the man rubbed at his jaw, pinching himself as well just to make sure that he really wasn’t dreaming all of this.

The pinch hurt. A lot.

“Ow,” he muttered, wincing inwardly at the sharp sting of pain that came. So much for that, then.

The Doctor turned to him when he heard the mutter, blinking owlishly. “Did you say something?”

Lestrade shook his head. “I was just checking to see if I’m actually dreaming up all of this,” he returned dryly. Surely somehow this had to be a dream of sorts, surely—a very lucid dream, but still a dream. How else could he explain all that had happened to him tonight? It was this or accepting that he was starting to go mad, and Lestrade was still pretty certain of his sanity.

There was a pause after that reply, and the Doctor blinked a few more times before he slowly tilted his head sideways and raised his eyebrows. “Of course it’s real, why would you think otherwise?” he asked back, clearly confused by Lestrade’s response. “It’s not as if you haven’t met an alien before, Riddell.”

Lestrade could only blink, already finding himself lost in the conversation. “I beg your pardon?” Riddell? Who in blazes was Riddell? And really, why was the Doctor talking about meeting aliens so nonchalantly? Was he part of some secret agency that had contact with extraterrestrials or something? He did recall the other mentioning something about a UNIT and a Torchwood earlier, whatever they were.

And now the Doctor only seemed to look just as lost as Lestrade himself felt. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and forgotten your name as well now! I know it’s been awhile since we last talked, but I assumed you were having fun with Neffy so I didn’t want to interrupt. Although I didn’t know you were moving to London; you should have told me! I could have helped bring your things over with the TARDIS.” He glanced around Lestrade’s flat again, frowning slightly. “Although I’m pretty sure the telly isn’t supposed to look like that in the nineteenth hundreds. Just where did you—” the Doctor paused again, blinking a few more times before he looked back to Lestrade. “What year is this, exactly?”

Instead of answering the question, Lestrade blurted out the first thing that came to his mind at the inquiry. “You’re a bloody time traveller.”

“Very astute observation, yes,” the Doctor quickly returned with a familiar bite in his voice that Lestrade knew all too well. It was the same bite that Sherlock’s voice would have when he was running low on patience (which was almost all the time) but still had to put up with things in order to get what he wanted. Or in easier terms, it was the bark that came shortly before the bite.

“2012,” he replied, somehow feeling as if his voice was slowly escaping from him as he did so. “I’d say you’re very far away from the nineteenth hundreds.”

The Doctor scoffed once more. “You would think that, of course,” he went, easily waving off the comment. “You humans always think that time is in some sort of straight line. It’s such an astonishingly simple concept when you all have advanced in so many more ways. Just think if you could get rid of that primitive mentality!”

Lestrade wasn’t quite sure if he was supposed to feel insulted or complimented by those words; but more than that, he couldn’t help but blink at the Doctor’s strange choice of words, particularly when he said ‘you humans’. That combined with everything else—his stranger demeanour, his off-putting manners, not to mention the rather _alien_ quality he tended to display in general… Lestrade shut his eyes the moment he put two and two together, wondering why he hadn’t noticed this earlier. “You’re an alien too, I’m guessing.” There was no other reason why he would be so knowledgeable in life beyond Earth—not to mention the whole time travelling bit too.

The Doctor beamed at the deduction ( _deduction_ —Christ, he was starting to sound like Sherlock now), “Time Lord, to be precise,” he clarified, idly adjusting his bowtie.

A ‘Time Lord’, he says. Of course he was a Time Lord, what else could he be? Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose, already starting to feel a headache starting to come between his temples. This was really, really not his night. “Any chance I could get that in English?” he asked dryly.

A blink from the Doctor. “English?” the other echoed back, confused by the inquiry. “Was I talking in another language? Chinese? Russian? Spanish? Or was that Icelandic? I could repeat it for you if you’d like. _Ég er tími Drott_ —”

“No!” Lestrade half-shouted out before the Doctor could finish that, raising a hand to stop him, grimacing as the man felt his headache getting stronger by the second. “God, no. That’s not what I meant.”

The Doctor frowned then. “You didn’t?” he went, starting to sound unimpressed once more. “Then why did you ask me to say it in another language? You really need to be more specific.”

“I didn’t—” Lestrade started to answer, but cut himself off before he could reply and sighed, rubbing the side of his face. When he was lamenting about the state of his life, he didn’t ask to get dragged around by an absolute madman. One had already been enough. Two was going to be the death of him, he knew it. “What _is_ a Time Lord, precisely?” There, he should be specific enough this time.

“Ah.” Well, at least it did seem to work, judging by the knowing expression on the other’s face. The Doctor clapped his hands once, wriggling his fingers while he darted his head around, almost as if he was looking for something—or rather, searching.

Lestrade eyed the Doctor warily. “You know, I don’t mind if you don’t want to tell me.” It wasn’t an important question or anything—but he just couldn’t help but be, well, curious. After all, it wasn’t everyday when you met a time travelling alien… even if said time-travelling alien was rather—odd, to put it mildly.

The Doctor quickly waved it off. “No, no, that’s not the problem. It’s just—well.” He twiddled his thumbs for a moment, seemingly debating heavily on what he wanted to say next.

Lestrade mentally counted down from ten to one before prodding him again. “Just spit it out, Doctor.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have a fizzy drink around here, would you?” the Doctor blurted out before he paused for a moment. “I still haven’t gotten to eat my Jammie Dodgers,” he added after said moment and he held up the box from earlier, smiling hopefully even as Lestrade could do nothing else but stare back incredulously. And here he had thought that it was something important—

Definitely a madman, and defiantly an alien. Lestrade shook his head and let out a sigh of exasperation, pushing himself off the couch. “Do you have a preference?” he asked while he made his way to the kitchen.

“Just nothing too sugary!” the Doctor exclaimed back in return, his shout echoing off the walls of Lestrade’s all too small flat (he had to move out after the divorce, and his salary couldn’t have allowed him to afford anything too comfortable—just practical). “Don’t want it to ruin the taste of the Dodgers, after all!”

Lestrade bit down another sigh. “Alright, I hear you. No need to shout, Doctor,” he replied as he opened the fridge and grabbed two cans of drinks from the bottom shelf—a sugar-free fizzy drink as the Doctor asked for (mostly leftovers from his one attempt of a healthy diet which obviously didn’t work out), and a can of iced coffee for himself so that he could flush out the alcohol in his system. Of course, it really wouldn’t work until he had slept, but Lestrade had a feeling that he needed to be awake for a little while longer. Until then, this was all he could do to keep himself as awake as possible.

He returned to the living room once the drinks were retrieved, passing the sugar-free drink to the Doctor first before settling back down with his own can of cold coffee. He popped the tab without waiting and took a mouthful, relishing the taste of caffeine going down his throat. If there was something he needed after getting pissed halfway and then running away from a murderous alien, then this would be it.

The Doctor did likewise beside him, although he made a face the moment he tasted his drink, spitting it onto the floor without remorse and proceeded to glare at the can as if it had personally offended him. “There isn’t any sugar in it.”

All Lestrade did in return was to roll his eyes. “Of course there isn’t, that’s why it’s sugar-free. Unless you lot don’t know what ‘sugar-free’ means.” Or space didn’t have them or something. It wasn’t like he knew anything about space, considering how he never knew that aliens existed until just a while ago.

The Doctor’s expression only turned sour when he heard Lestrade’s response. “Well, that’s just rubbish. How can a fizzy drink be a fizzy drink when there’s no sugar in it?” he huffed out irritably as he set the can back down onto the table and proceeded to eat his Jammie Dodgers instead, munching on them rather loudly. Lestrade eyed the Doctor yet again for another few moments before he returned to his coffee, taking another mouthful.

He was halfway through his can when the other finally spoke up, having finished a good portion of his Jammie Dodgers. “Right, so. Yes. Time Lords,” the Doctor started, pressing his fingertips together as he glanced over to Lestrade. “What do you want to know?”

The man shrugged. “Anything you want to tell, I suppose. You’re the Time Lord here.”

“Oh,” the Doctor went with a blink as he lowered his hands. “Right, yes. Of course.” He took another Jammie Dodger from his pack and munched on it, chewing rapidly. “I suppose I could—” he stopped in order to gulp down the Dodger before continuing, “—I could start with the basics, I suppose.”

Lestrade quietly eyed the Doctor again (this was starting to become a trend, he realized) before speaking. “Like I said, you don’t have to say anything that you don’t want to.” He could sense a certain amount of discomfort from the Doctor, and he really didn’t want to push any boundaries he wasn’t aware of. He had been on his job (and around Sherlock) long enough to know how badly these things could end up.

“Well, there really isn’t much to say about them,” the Doctor returned, already fishing out another Jammie Dodger. “Time Lords have two hearts, a respiratory bypass system and lower body temperatures. We don’t instantly die but instead regenerate, although we gain a new face and personality. What else—oh, I can hear and smell better than you do.” He smiled at the last bit, looking rather pleased when he said that.

Lestrade had to resist the urge to roll his eyes once more—god, that last part was nothing if not very Sherlock-like. “Good to know,” he returned, knowing that most of what the Doctor had said hadn’t quite sunk into him yet (that, or it had flown right over his head; he had to admit being a bit lost at ‘respiratory bypass system’). It would probably come to him tomorrow once all the alcohol inside him was properly flushed out.

“Anyway, enough about me.” The Doctor forced himself to take a sup from his sugar-free drink, making another face at it before placing it back down again and turned to face Lestrade. “What about you? You’re not Riddell but I’m pretty sure you’re a descendant of his—hard to believe otherwise when you have the same face as he does.” He paused for a moment then, tilting his head to give Lestrade a quizzical look. “Do you like dinosaurs?”

The man blinked at the question, understandably confused by it. “What do dinosaurs have to do with me?” he asked back in turn, not at all certain where this was going. How exactly did the Doctor go from this Riddell bloke to dinosaurs?

“Riddell shot a lot of them the last time we were together,” the Doctor explained, biting on a new Jammie Dodger as Lestrade stared at him with an expression of incredulity. “I hope you don’t do the same. Not a big fan of guns to be honest—although the situation then was quite delicate, what with missiles and spaceships and all that worrying stuff.” He swallowed down the biscuit and started to speak again, only to close it soon after as he frowned and looked at Lestrade silently for a few seconds. “Sorry, I don’t think I ever got your name. What was it?”

…and it did only occur to Lestrade then that he had never given the Doctor his name (and neither did the Doctor, but then the point was kind of moot by now). The man blinked, needing a moment to regain himself over his own realization before finally giving his name. “…Greg. Greg Lestrade.”

The Doctor blinked once again at that. “Greg?” he repeated, sounding somewhat sceptical about it. “Is that short for Gregory?”

Lestrade had to pause for another moment before replying. “Um, yeah—”

“Of course it has to be, Gregory sounds much more sensible. Greg just sounds like rubbish.” The Doctor picked out another Jammie Dodger again, breaking it into half this time before he popped one of said halves into his mouth. “Gregory Lestrade! It sounds almost heroic,” he stated, looking to the man with a bright smile that for the first time went straight into his eyes, lighting them up. “Like a dashing white knight who’s off to save the world from evil.”

Lestrade honestly wished he could smile to that, but all he could feel was another pang of regret in his chest. He had never thought himself as a hero or some dashing knight—he had always just been human, plain and simple, a man who just had a job to do… and now even that wasn’t possible for him anymore. Sherlock was dead and his job had been taken from him; what use was a man like him who couldn’t even do his work any longer?

Still, that was just his problem, and not the Doctor’s. It wasn’t as if the other could possibly know about it anyway. Lestrade forced a small smile onto his face for the Doctor to see before he turned away, going back to his iced coffee. He took another mouthful as he checked his watch for the time, blinking when he read the pointing hands—it was already past two in the morning. Apparently he had been out for a long longer than he had expected himself to be. Then again, he hadn’t really been paying attention to the time from the moment he decided to try and get himself drunk earlier; even less so after that, considering all that had happened.

“So!” the Doctor started once more, his voice getting Lestrade’s attention. The man dropped his hand back down and turned to look at the other, watching as the Doctor clapped his hands together. “2012, you said? It must be a pretty exciting time then, what with the thirtieth Olympiad and all that.” He paused at that, blinking for a bit before adding on cautiously. “…the thirtieth Olympiad is taking place here, right? Unless I got the places wrong again—I never like it when that happens.”

The man raised an eyebrow at the last part, but decided not to comment on it. He took another drink of his iced coffee, relishing the smooth slide of it down his throat as he lowered the can and replied. “You got it right. It’s supposed to happen in a couple of months, I think.” Not that it mattered to him now—had he been still in the Met he knew he would have to handle some security detail when the time came, but… well. It didn’t matter when it was going to happen now, was it? He’d still be just as lost as he was right now.

God, his life had really gone to the dogs.

Sighing, Lestrade took one last mouthful from his can, finishing up his coffee as he stood up and made his way to the kitchen so that he could throw said can away. It was past two in the morning and he had run away from a giant murdering alien centipede after getting himself halfway smashed. Lestrade figured that he had every reason to call it a night before anything else could happen to him.

“Where are you going?” he heard the Doctor ask as he walked past the other.

Instead of stopping, Lestrade just kept on walking towards the corridor that led to his bedroom. “I’m going to turn in for the night,” he answered as he moved. “It’s pretty late, so feel free to stay here for the night. Spare bedroom’s through the left door—” he pointed to said door in question, knowing that the Doctor would be able to see it, “—and if you need it the bathroom’s just the door next to it. If you’re going out early just make sure to lock the door when you leave.” He doubted that anybody would see him, but all the same he didn’t feel like seeing anybody anyway—he was hardly in the mood to be social.

There was a brief pause before the Doctor replied. “Left doors, spare bedroom and bathroom respectively; make sure to lock the main door before leaving here. Got it.”

Lestrade made a satisfied hum. “Right. Well, see you whenever, I suppose.” He raised his hand in a wave, bidding the Doctor good night before entering his room and closing the door behind him. He threw himself onto his bed as soon as the door was shut, letting himself sink down onto the creaky old mattress he got from a second hand shop without even bothering to change out of his clothes. He knew he was going to regret it when he woke up, but right now he couldn’t bring himself t care about it.

 _I’ll deal with it later,_ he thought, and that was the last thing he could think about as Lestrade closed eyes and let the day’s exhaustion wash over him, swiftly pulling him down to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In where there is some bathroom humor (literally), toasters are no longer toasters, and Lestrade finds himself dragged into an entirely new world.
> 
> (On a side note, happy thanksgiving to the people who celebrate it!)

_“Sherlock? Sherlock?!”_

_Lestrade heard himself shout as he kicked open the door of Sherlock’s old Montague flat, rushing in the moment the way was open. Panic and dread crawled up his spine as he found the prone figure lying on the couch and Lestrade immediately hurried over, one hand starting to reach for the phone in his pocket. Surely he couldn’t have done it, not after managing to kick the habit for the last six months…_

_He knelt before the body once he was close enough, eyes instantly darting down to look at Sherlock’s arms. There were no visible track marks—but then again, Sherlock had never left any marks on him even when he was in the prime of his habit. The only reason why he had ever knew that Sherlock was using any drugs was because the younger man had waltzed into his crime scene high as a kite, earning him a night in the detention cell. The punishment should have been more, but then Sherlock had opened his mouth and solved his crime in the time he took to make dinner. After that, things had never quite been the same._

_Lestrade hoped they would never be the same again._

_“Sherlock,” he called again, trying to keep the worry out of his voice but failing. If Sherlock had purposefully taken an overdose to kill himself then Lestrade could never forgive himself for that. Sherlock was his responsibility, his charge, his job. He knew he was supposed to take care of him, and to have failed at that task…_

_“Useless, aren’t you?”_

_Lestrade snapped his gaze up at the sound of that voice, recognizing it instantly. “Sherlock,” he breathed out, relief evident in that single word. “Are you alright? I was worried—”_

_“Worried that I would die?” Sherlock prompted, voice strangely soft. “But wouldn’t you be happier that way?”_

_The man blinked at that, confused by the words. “What?”_

_“It would be so much easier, wouldn’t it?” the younger man continued, voice still soft. “No need to take care of the ‘freak’, no extra responsibilities, no more Mycroft to deal with. Wouldn’t that be all so much easier?”_

_Lestrade found himself starting to shift back a little, something dark and twisted starting to claw inside his stomach. “Sherlock, what are you—”_

_“Well, you’ve got your wish.” And it was then did Sherlock move, limbs shifting in a clearly disjoined manner that only served to make Lestrade back away a bit more. He watched as Sherlock moved to stand up, arms and legs all moving in the wrong way, eyes widening when the younger man turned his head and revealed it to be nothing more than a broken, bloody mess, as if he had jumped off a building and let his head get smashed open._

_His breath caught in his throat at that thought, and in that instant everything came back flooding to him—the trial, the cases, the arrest. And then came the Fall. The Fall of Sherlock Holmes._

_A fall he had caused to happen._

_Lestrade backed away even more now, fear gripping him tight as he stared into the dead eyes of the former consulting detective and found himself pleading. “Sherlock, please—I didn’t—”_

_“Of course you didn’t,” Sherlock sneered, taking a step forward towards him. “You never wanted this, wanted me, wanted this life. And now you’re glad that it’s gone. Certainly makes everything easier now, doesn’t it?”_

_“Sherlock—” he started, but the younger man had already cut him off with a cold, harsh glare, taking the last few steps to Lestrade so that they were staring at each other face to face._

_“You made me jump off that rooftop, Lestrade,” he went, voice burning with cold anger. Lestrade could feel that anger rising, burning, reaching out and overwhelming it with the ice-cold burn of that rage, that hate. He tried to step back again, but stopped when he found that his back was against the wall, effectively trapping him._

_He tried to push down the twist of guilt inside him as he looked back at Sherlock who was now towering over him, angling his head so that all Lestrade could see was blood and dead eyes. Blood and dead eyes and the scent of death (guilt) as Sherlock leaned ever closer to him, hissing through twisted lips. “You made me fall, Lestrade, and don’t you ever forget that.”_

_Lestrade opened his mouth, wanting to speak, to say something, to apologize, but Sherlock was towering even higher, his body fading into shadow. The eyes and the blood was still there though, haunting his vision and paralyzing him as the shadow loomed over him and Sherlock’s voice roared in his mind._

_“YOU KILLED ME—”_

 

Lestrade gasped as he opened his eyes, chest heaving as the remnants of the dream echoed inside his mind. He took a few moments before Lestrade could recollect himself properly, squeezing his eyes shut as rolled to his side and pressed a hand against his cheek, pinching it after a pause and hissed at the flash of pain that followed. He had been dreaming, then. A nightmare. Just brilliant.

The man sighed quietly, dropping his hand back down onto the mattress. He could feel a mild headache pounding in his head, most likely from the alcohol he had consumed last night. He also felt unbearably sweaty and uncomfortable as a result of not changing out of his clothes before falling asleep. And just to top it all off, his mouth tasted like piss since he hadn’t bothered to brush his teeth as well. All in all, it was not a good way to start the day—but at least he was alive, and that was always a plus.

 _Another day of nothing,_ Lestrade still couldn’t help but think bitterly to himself as he rolled back flat on the bed, giving himself a few more moments before he reluctantly pushed himself to sit up and then out of bed entirely. The sun had already risen—looking to somewhere around nine—and a quick check of his watch confirmed that it was nine; half-past nine, to be precise. That meant seven hours of sleep. Considering his current track record of four to five, this wasn’t too bad at all. 

Standing up now, Lestrade gave a groan as he stretched himself, wincing when he heard some of his joints popping rather loudly. He never did mind getting old as much as others his age would be, but it was never nice when he had to be reminded about it. He was late into his prime years now, and rather than being secure here he was now jobless and completely crushed by his own failures, knowing that he was unable to rise from it all ever again. What a life, indeed.

Of course, he knew that he couldn’t stay on like this forever, but it was hard to move on, not when the weight of his own guilt continued to pull him down. It was hard to admit to anybody, but Sherlock had been a big part of his life, regardless if he liked it or not; had been, really, ever since that day five (six) years ago when the then would-be consulting detective came into his life high as a kite. Well, into his crime scene to be precise, but that was where things had started. He had seen Sherlock at his best as well as his worst, scolded him when he was sulking around and being an idiot and rolled his eyes at every childish display of happiness that Sherlock gave. Six years in where they worked together—six years of knowing one of the greatest man he had ever known and now...

Lestrade threw his shirt down with a grunt and picked up a new one. He really needed to stop dwelling about it—it certainly wasn’t going to do anybody any good if he kept on mourning, least of all himself. John was going through it all so much more worse than him, so Lestrade knew that he couldn’t complain. Not when he had unwittingly helped in making this all happen in the first place.

 _No more thinking about that,_ the man reprimanded himself as he wore his chosen shirt—a simple, plain button up that worked well enough for the current season. That done, he rummaged around for a pair of pants and trousers to wear for the day, managing to find a set after a while. Lestrade made a satisfied hum when he found them, holding them both as he stepped out of his bedroom and made an immediate beeline for the bathroom which was right opposite of him.

It was after he stepped inside the bathroom did Lestrade realize that something was very, very wrong.

The man paused the moment he was inside, brows slowly knitting together into a frown as he cast a glance around his surroundings. He stared at the water that was dripping down from the ceiling and blinked at the utterly drenched state of his bathroom, making a mental note to clean it up as soon as he could. Standing here now he could feel the humidity of the tiny room pressing around him (a lot of hot water had been used up, it seemed), the moisture rubbing off him wrongly because there shouldn’t be any of this at all—this was the feeling of the bathroom after somebody had used it, and that made absolutely no sense because he lived alone. Just who would—

A loud crash sounded out from the lounge just as he thought that, and Lestrade found himself reacting before his mind could comprehend what was happening. He dashed right out of the bathroom, darting out of the hallway and to the lounge and he felt himself tensing, ready to spring into action the moment he needed to. It was a familiar rush of adrenaline, one he had lived with for the last twenty years of his life and feeling it coming back now after the last three weeks of nothing was almost like a blessing. Lestrade could hear footsteps approaching him and so he steeled himself, sucking in a breath before he turned around to face the intruder.

Or to be more precise, turning around and then pausing entirely as he came face to face with the Doctor, who had his head tilted to the side and was blinking owlishly at Lestrade, who could do little else but stare back in return and let the (awkward) silence stretch between them.

The Doctor was the one who eventually broke said silence, smiling brightly as he held up an empty plate. "D'you want toast? I just made some for myself, but I can let you have it first if you're hungry."

Lestrade only stared at the Doctor for a few more moments before he did move—that was, moving a hand so that he could grab one of the Doctor's cheeks and pinch it sharply.

The Doctor instantly winced, expertly twisting himself away from the hand and took a few cautious steps away from Lestrade. "Oy, that hurt!" he half-shouted, free hand already moving up to rub against said cheek as he sent the man a brief glare of annoyance. "What did you do that for? Do you not like toast or something? You can just tell me if that's the case, you know."

"You're here," was all that Lestrade could manage out, his mind still not quite believing what he was seeing before him. "How can you possibly be here?" Why—how was the Doctor still here? He had almost been certain that he had dreamed the whole thing up, but the morning had come and here the Doctor was in his house and going around his lounge in nothing but his towel—

Lestrade instantly shifted his gaze down to said towel wrapped around the Doctor's waist, gaping at it for several moments as he pointed to it. "And why are you using _my towel_?" And he had just changed his towels the day before, too.

The Doctor followed Lestrade's gaze downwards to stare at the towel in question, blinking at it for several moments himself before looking back up to the man and shrugged. "Well, I had to put on something while my clothes were in the wash. Unless I wasn't supposed to do so." He paused to frown at that point. "Was I not supposed to? You lot have some rather silly traditions at times, it’s all quite confusing."

To be honest Lestrade had no idea what was confusing about preserving one's modesty, but he really had more important things to be worried about at the moment. Like the fact that the Doctor was real, which meant that whatever happened after he left the bar had been real too. The man squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, attempting to take everything in properly this time. So aliens were real, he had almost gotten murdered by a giant tentacle centipede and somehow ended up with another alien (albeit one very human-like) who was most certainly a madman with a penchant for Jammie Dodgers, had used his shower as well as his towel and apparently had no sense of modesty whatsoever.

This really was not his day.

"Couldn't you have asked me first, at least?" Lestrade eventually managed to ask after a pause, slowly opening his eyes. As overwhelmed as he was now with everything, the best he could do was to tackle these issues one step at a time and see what would come after. Granted, it was probably not the best way to do things, but it wasn't as if there was an instruction manual for dealing with a half-naked alien who was standing in your lounge and happened to be using your towel. At least he still had spares.

The Doctor blinked again. "I didn't want to disturb you while you were busy sleeping! I know a lot of humans aren't happy when people wake them up, so I try not to do that unless it’s an emergency or their lives are in danger." Saying that, he proceeded to wave the empty plate in his hand right in front of Lestrade's face. "Are you sure you don't want toast? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, or so I've been told." He paused once more at that, looking over to give said plate in his hand a curious glance. "Not that I've ever understood why. Is there something special about eating during the morning? I quite like it myself, so I suppose I can see the charm in it."

"I—" Lestrade started and then stopped, giving the Doctor another look before he nodded quietly. "Toast would be fine, thanks." He could see a lost battle when it was right before him, and there wasn't any point in denying the evidence before his eyes. The Doctor was real, aliens were real, and somehow he was going to have to deal with that.

"Not a problem," the Doctor returned, smiling once more. "Now go and do your thing while I make toast! I'll call you once I'm done." He spun around once he said that, turning back to the kitchen after a spin and leaving Lestrade to his own devices at the moment.

Lestrade allowed himself to stare at the Doctor for a few more moments before he closed his eyes again and sighed. Not his day at all, it seemed, and he had a feeling it was only going to get a lot more worse. Shaking his head, the man turned back to the hallway and went to the bathroom to freshen up for the day—but not before getting a new towel for himself and making a mental note to wash the one the Doctor had used as soon as possible. Last thing he wanted now was to deal with more laundry.

Unfortunately, the laundry happened to be the least of Lestrade's worries—a fact that the man discovered for himself the moment he turned on the shower and found it buzzing like a bee.

Lestrade instantly flinched, quickly backing away from the shower when he heard the sound. He had never been too fond of bees, having been stung by them repeatedly when he was young and still living out in the country with his family. It had been years since he had seen or heard any sort of bees, but the sound of their buzzing was still unmistakable.

The man stared at the shower for a few more seconds before he turned back to the door, poking his head out and shouted down the hallway. "Doctor!"

In an instant the Doctor appeared at the call, the other's head coming out from the other end of the hallway as he shouted back in turn. "What is it?"

"My shower is buzzing!" Lestrade yelled again, thinking for a moment just how utterly ridiculous this would look like to anybody who could have seen this—two grown men (well, man-like being for the Doctor, he supposed) poking their heads out opposite ends of a hallway and communicating at each other through shouting. Even he knew that it would be quite the sight.

A confused look crossed the Doctor's face at that and he frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Buzzing?" he echoed back, still shouting.

Wasn't it obvious enough? "Buzzing!" Lestrade returned, voice still loud enough to echo through the hallway. "Just like a bee!" A whole swarm of them, really, which really would make his subsequent showers a very uncomfortable experience to go through if it wasn't going to stop. In fact, he could swear that the buzzing was only getting louder now, the rising sound causing goosepimples to rise up on his back. He wanted it gone, and he wanted it gone now.

The Doctor looked in confusion for a while more before his face suddenly lit up in understanding, eyes glowing bright with realization. "Oh, of course! The sound!" He exclaimed, already moving himself into the hallway and walking over to the bathroom. Lestrade quickly threw a towel over himself before the Doctor could get to where he was—it was already strange enough having to deal with a half-naked alien in your house, and he sure as hell didn't want to deal with said half-naked alien while he himself happened to be entirely bare.

He had just managed to get said towel secure around his waist when the door to the bathroom opened and the Doctor strode in without a second thought, glancing around the tiny area which they both now occupied (rather awkwardly, Lestrade would add). "Where is it?" the Doctor asked after a pause, glancing over to Lestrade. The man pointed to the heater in response, where he had made out the source of the buzzing to be coming from. The Doctor followed the direction of where Lestrade had pointed and let his gaze fall onto said heater, where then he simply frowned at it once again and looked at it for several moments before turning back to Lestrade with a curious expression. "That one?" he inquired, as if wanting to confirm something.

Lestrade nodded. "Yeah, that one," he confirmed, now starting to frown himself. Was something the matter here?

The Doctor made a disappointed face the moment Lestrade gave his answer. "Oh," he went sadly, "I thought you might have liked it."

A beat of silence.

"Wait," Lestrade started, his mind already putting two and two together and wanting to smack himself for it because really, it was pretty bloody obvious now that he thought about it. Considering who exactly was the last person to use his bathroom and now with the strange addition that had come out from nowhere... "Just what exactly did you do to my shower?" Actually, why did he even do it in the first place? Was the buzzing supposed to mean something in some alien language?

The Doctor raised his hands at the question, putting on what seemed to be his attempt at an innocent face (it really wasn't working). "Nothing!" he exclaimed out, eyes going wide for a moment before he shifted to full-out pouting. "Well, there wasn't enough hot water and I really like to shower with hot water, so I might have... sonicked your shower a little."

Lestrade grew understandably confused at the answer, especially at the last part. "Sonicked?" he repeated, frowning once more.

"Sonicked!" the Doctor echoed back in return, expression quickly brightening up as he nodded eagerly. "Simply put, I used my sonic screwdriver to tinker around with your shower a bit. Now it'll never run out of hot water!"

...as much as he did want to say a few words about tinkering other's electronics without consent, Lestrade had to concur that not running out of hot water was a very nice thing to hear. But still— "Why the buzzing?"

The Doctor blinked yet again. "Oh," he started, glancing down and proceeded to start patting around his own waist. "Must be a side effect, I suppose. But that's nothing a little bit of sonicking can't fix. Just let me get out my... aha!" He shouted in triumph as he brandished... well, _something_ in his hand. He wasn't exactly sure what to call it, because it wasn't like anything he had seen before—the best he could say was that it looked something like an oversized pen. Lestrade had to quickly move away then as the Doctor took a few steps closer to his shower, grinning as he pointed said _thing_ towards the heater.

"Geronimo!" he went and proceeded to... Lestrade had no idea what exactly it was that he did but then there was a weird sound he could only best describe as _sonicking_. The _sonicking_ happened for a few seconds before the buzzing did stop—only to be replaced by something even worse.

_vroom vroom VROOM—_

Lestrade instantly winced and covered his ears. "Why is it making car noises now?!" he half-shouted at the Doctor, who also happened to be wincing as well (although it wasn't as bad as Lestrade).

"Sorry!" the Doctor shouted back. "Just let me—" he cut himself off as he pointed the... _thing_ at his heater again and the _sonicking_ happened again. It took another few moments before the car noises vanished, but right after that came the sound of a bleating sheep which only lasted for a bit before the Doctor did his sonic thing once more and the bleating turned into a roar, followed by the sound of thunder, what he recognized as the Jaws theme before it was replaced by that one song from _Titanic_. After that were more animal sounds (barking, meowing and a macaw talking just to name a few), some more and then a strange _whoop whoop whoop_ sound that the Doctor seemed to beam at for a moment before doing that sonicking thing again and the heater did fall silent this time.

The man cautiously lowered his hands from his ears once he could hear the silence, letting out a sigh of relief. "Well, at least that's over with—"

_—eeeeehhhh, sexy lady—_

Lestrade quickly covered his ears again as the Doctor fumbled with the thing in his hand and pointed it at the heater once more, sonicking it one more time before the heater finally stopped for good.

"There we go," the Doctor went, beaming as he lowered his hand and the thing he was holding. "All fixed, and the hot water's still there."

"...thanks," Lestrade managed out after a pause, slowly lowering his hands this time as he eyed his shower warily. Talk about a strange start to his day, alright. This definitely had to be the first within his list of top ten strange mornings—even Sherlock couldn't have managed this level of insanity back in the day when he kept breaking into Lestrade's flat and falling asleep on his couch.

The Doctor's smile only widened at that. "Not a problem at all," he returned, giving Lestrade a pat on his shoulder. "Now go take your shower and have a good time with it—there'll be breakfast once you're out." And having said so, the Doctor made his way out of the bathroom, leaving Lestrade to his own inside. The man couldn't help but turn around to stare at the Doctor once again before he sighed and closed the door, finally getting to his shower without any more incidents.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later found Lestrade (now showered and freshened up) in the kitchen making himself a cup of coffee, hoping that this was what he needed to start his day properly. It had been his ritual ever since his early days in the force, and even though he was out of it now some habits were pretty hard to kick. He set the kettle on before going over to grab some slices of bread to make himself a sandwich, because despite what the Doctor had said it seemed that he hadn't made anything yet and he did need his—

The kettle started to whistle right there and then and Lestrade immediately turned around to stare at his kettle incredulously, glancing down at his watch. Not even half a minute had passed since he had put the kettle on and the water was already boiling? The man stared at it for a moment longer before he whipped his head over the counter and shouted once more. " _Doctor!_ "

Again the Doctor answered, although this time it was with his clothes on (Lestrade had chased him to do so once he had finished showering and had seen the other still in his towel). "Yes?" he asked, the thing from before already in his hand.

Lestrade pointed to his kettle and stared at the other. "What did you do this time?"

And again, the Doctor pouted. "It was so slow!" he answered in what was clearly a whine. "I was bored and I didn't want to wait, so I just made it—faster. Now you don't even need to wait for a minute! Isn't that a good thing?"

Perhaps in another time and place he would agree with the Doctor on that, but after that incident with his shower heater Lestrade couldn't help but be wary about it all. "Are you sure it isn't going to make noises again?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he did so.

All the Doctor did was to scoff and wave it off. "Nonsense," he returned, chest puffing a little. "The heater was just a onetime accident—"

The sound of crickets started to play instead of the kettle’s whistling. Lestrade sent the Doctor a pointed look at that as he fumbled through his pockets once more, pulling out his thing one more time and sonicked at the kettle until it fell silent.

“There! _Now_ it’s all fixed,” the Doctor huffed as he kept back his... Lestrade supposed he could call it a sonic thing, considering what it did. Or maybe he should just ask what exactly it was—there was only so long he could keep calling it the _thing_ or the sonic _thing_ ; it would get old sooner or later.

He glanced at the pocket where the _thing_ was kept, eyeing it for a few short moments before finally asking. “So, are you going to tell me what is that thing you're using or am I going to have to keep calling it a 'thing'?”

“Hm?” the Doctor went as he followed Lestrade's gaze down to the same pocket, absently patting it for a few moments before he figured out what the man was asking about. “Oh! You mean that? I thought I already told you—it's my trusty sonic screwdriver.” He beamed as he said that, seemingly looking rather proud of himself.

Lestrade only blinked at the answer, trying to wrap his head around that answer. “Sonic screwdriver?” he repeated, looking at the pocket once again. Sure, he did vaguely remember the Doctor mentioning it earlier, but... “What in the world is a sonic screwdriver?”

The Doctor gave Lestrade a look that the man knew all too well from spending his time with Sherlock—specifically, it was that 'I might not be really doing it but I am totally rolling my eyes at you right now' look. “It's a screwdriver that's sonic, what else do you think it is?”

Lestrade opened his mouth, wanting to say something back in response to that when he found that he didn't exactly have anything that he could actually say. So all he could do was to shut his mouth back up and turn back to the kettle, wanting nothing more than to get his cup of coffee and really hope now that his day would be better after said cup. That idea soon stopped though when he glanced beside his kettle and found that his toaster had somehow managed to turn blue overnight.

He immediately turned back to the Doctor and pointed at his— _blue_ —toaster.

“Why is my toaster blue?”

Once more the Doctor had to follow where Lestrade was pointed, smiling brightly. “Yes, the TARSTER! I was hoping you'd notice that, I took hours to get the correct blue to paint it.”

Lestrade stared at the Doctor for a moment. “You _painted_ my toaster?!” he found himself nearly yelling again.

The Doctor only sent him an unimpressed look back in return. “It's not a _toaster_ , it's a TARSTER.”

Lestrade forced himself to suck in a breath and count up to ten before he did anything rash. “And what exactly is a tarster?” he asked, crossing his arms and giving the Doctor another look.

“TARSTER, Gregory!” the Doctor emphasized as he twirled around. “All capitals! It stands for Time And Relatively Sonic Toasts Exponentially Remade.”

“...” Lestrade started at the other again, now uncrossing his arms. “That doesn't even make _sense_.”

The Doctor twirled back to face Lestrade, leaning forward so that they were face to face and proceeded to spend the next few seconds staring intently at the man.

“...just making my point clear,” Lestrade added on as an afterthought, leaning back just slightly. As used as he was to Sherlock's stares, there was just something about the Doctor that kept him wary. Possibly the alien thing. Possibly.

The Doctor stared at Lestrade for a while more before abruptly frowning. “It makes perfect sense,” he finally replied, looking unimpressed once again. “You just haven't seen it yet.” He reached out and bapped Lestrade's nose after saying that, leaning away once the deed was done and spun yet again.

Lestrade took another few seconds to recollect himself before starting to speak again. “But—”

The Doctor quickly cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Enough about the TARSTER,” he huffed, spinning around once more and then gestured towards the counter where most of his appliances stood. “I've already made toast, it is in the microwave along with your coffee, if you were looking for it. I put them there so that they'd stay warm and all toasty-like when you were done. No need to thank me, I'm just doing my part as a guest.” The Doctor broke into another one of his bright smiles then. “You can do the same for me after we've taken care of the Xenokin.”

Lestrade stopped midway towards his microwave at that, turning back towards the Doctor with an expression of utter bewilderment. “What?” he asked, not sure if he had heard that right. Did the Doctor just say 'we'? As in the both of them? He could not have been hearing that. No way.

The Doctor only sent back an equally confused look to Lestrade. “What what?” he returned, tilting his head. “Is it too early for you? I suppose we can wait if that's the case, we can spend the time watching telly. I've sonicked that too!” He beamed yet again. “All the channels in the world, and maybe a little more. Reception _is_ rather tricky these days...” he hummed in contemplation at that point, crossing his arms and frowning. “I suppose you lot just haven't perfected that just yet. It'll be in a few more years though, although I can't say. Spoilers and all that.”

The last half of that response was completely lost on Lestrade had he been listening to it, but at the moment he had far more important things to focus on. Like the fact that the Doctor was suggesting that _they_ go back to meet the alien centipede that had almost killed him last night. The giant alien centipede with _tentacles_ that would suck him dry... or do whatever it did to the bloke he had watched die before his eyes.

That one time was all an accident, really, and Lestrade knew he was lucky enough to escape from it all with just sore muscles and a minor hangover. There was no way he was going to go through this intact or alive if he was going to go back to it. And really—once was more than enough for him. He was already over forty and had other things to worry about—his days of running around and doing what he wanted were long gone. He had other responsibilities now, other problems...

...although what they exactly were now, he didn't really know. But he knew he would find it eventually. Somehow.

Maybe.

Lestrade sighed and rubbed his cheek. “And why are we going back to the thing that almost killed me?”

The Doctor frowned in disapproval. “I already told you, it’s not a 'thing', it’s a Xenokin,” he stressed on the last bit, jaw shifting irritably. “And we're going back to it because I want to talk to it. It can't control its hunger and its _starving_ , so we need to do something about that before it goes out again and eats more humans.”

Going out to eat more humans. Right. Why do that if there was going to be one walking right up to it? Lestrade squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was not how he was hoping his day would be, but then again nothing was ever going the way he hoped ever since Sherlock waltzed into his life. At least this was something he was more than familiar with... even though this was also a lot more than just random crime scenes and running into secret military bases with the ID of your sibling.

Lowering his hand, Lestrade opened his eyes to look at the Doctor. “Just give me one good reason why I should follow you to meet the... Xenokin that almost killed me last night.”

The Doctor blinked for a moment at that, looking back at Lestrade with a silence that seemed to stretch on forever. The man couldn't help but stare back, somehow stuck in this moment that suddenly felt so profound and significant, like he was standing on the edge of a tall cliff and couldn't decide if he was going to jump down. Not to his death, exactly, but to something... else. Something that would be like nothing he had ever experienced before, something exciting. Something where he could do _good_ again, just like he had always wanted to.

And then the Doctor spoke.

“Why not?”

Lestrade only remained staring at the Doctor, blinking as his mind digested those two words. “Why not?” he echoed said two words, feeling quite lost already.

“Why not?” the Doctor repeated his answer with a smile, leaning back and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You've got nothing else to do, you're bored _and_ you are interested in helping me. You want to do something good again, and helping the Xenokin will do just that. You might have lost your job, Gregory, but that doesn't mean that it’s the end of the world. So I say again,” he leaned forward yet again, coming face to face with Lestrade once more and repeated his words again. “Why not? It'll be fun, and you know it.”

The man continued to stare, his mind reeling from the words—because that sounded almost so much like _Sherlock_ , because he knew deep inside that was the Doctor was true, and also because—“How did you know I lost my jo—”

But the Doctor had already moved back and was spinning again, making his way out of the kitchen. “No more time to waste, Lestrade! You can eat your breakfast later, we've got a Xenokin to talk to.”

“Doctor—” Lestrade started, taking a step forward, but the other had beaten him to it. He turned back around and faced the man, smiling in a way that was all-too knowing.

“Trust me,” he went, hands coming up to adjust his bowtie. “I'm the Doctor.”

And despite everything—the madness, the exasperation, the insanity of the last twelve hours and the increasing suspicion he had towards the Doctor—Lestrade knew right in that moment that he _did_. His world had gone upside down in a single night and only the Doctor seemed to have an idea of what was actually going on around him, even if it was clear that he was a madman. Still, no matter how daft he might be, somehow, within these last twelve hours, Lestrade knew that he did trust the Doctor—and somehow the knowledge of that felt so much more terrifying than anything else he had ever faced in his life.

Then again, he had nothing else to lose at this point. As crazy as it sounded, maybe a little madness was what he really needed to get himself back together. God knows how much of it he had to live with in the past six years, after all.

Knowing that he had lost this argument, Lestrade closed his eyes and nodded. “Fine. But just this one time, and nothing more.”

The Doctor's beaming smile was all that he needed to see in response to that.

He just hoped he hadn't made a wrong choice with this.

* * *

Once they were out, the Doctor led Lestrade to where the Xenokin would have retreated for the day. Or to be more precise, the Doctor gave mostly confusing directions for Lestrade to figure out as he drove them around in his car (which apparently had also been sonicked so that it no longer needed petrol to run; Lestrade was still on the fence if that actually was a good or bad thing).

"So," Lestrade started once the Doctor fell silent, taking his chance to ask the question that had been boggling in his mind ever since the Doctor talked to him back in his flat. "How did you know that I lost my job?" Not that he was ever going to make it a secret or anything, but the Doctor had only met him twelve hours ago—surely he couldn't have just figured it out so quickly.

The Doctor turned over to glance at him. "We're going to meet the Xenokin and you're wondering about that?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lestrade managed to not roll his eyes this time. "Just humour me, would you? You're the one dragging me to this in the first place." Well, okay, he was the one who had agreed to come here in the end, but the point still stood. The Doctor could have just gone on without him, but yet here he was driving around London under the directions of a madman.

There was a pause as the Doctor stared at Lestrade for a while longer before he sighed and rolled his eyes. (Lestrade had to suppress the urge to snort when he saw it.) "When we met last night I could smell the alcohol on you. Not strong, but still enough to know that you weren't with your mates—you wouldn't have been alone if that was the case," he started to explain, gesturing with his hands as he did so. "Also, it’s not a weekend. Unless you were an alcoholic you wouldn't have drunk that much, but I know you aren't. So! Drinking alone, drinking on a weekday when there should be work tomorrow—not the good kind of drinking. This means that something bad must have happened recently. And then I was looking through your flat while you were sleeping—"

"That's an invasion of privacy, you know," Lestrade muttered just loud enough for the Doctor to hear, who of course only let it fly by his head as he continued to speak.

"—looking through your flat while you were sleeping and I found a cheque addressed to your name with a rather measly amount of money, in my opinion, considering you worked for over twenty years there." The Doctor paused for a beat, seemingly debating over something before he clapped his hands and finished his words. "And then I saw the newspaper you still kept under the coffee table and put two and two together."

"..." Lestrade could only remain silent for a few moments as he made a turn the Doctor had pointed out to him earlier. "You know, you could have just said the last part first."

The Doctor's response was to make a face. "But my way sounded so much more clever!" he went with a pout, somehow unhappy over the fact that Lestrade wasn't impressed by it. "Didn't you like it?"

 _No,_ Lestrade wanted to snap out, _No, I don't like it, because that's nothing like Sherlock at all._ He didn't know what the Doctor was playing at or what he was trying to do, but Lestrade could only feel a surge of anger coursing through him. Sherlock Holmes was dead, gone and buried six feet under, and the world was a sorrier place without him. If he had just not had that one moment of doubt...

An abrupt shout broke Lestrade out of his thoughts, and there was barely any time for the man to register what was going on before he suddenly found his vision filled with an eyeful of tweed when the Doctor stretched across to his seat (elbows poking him rather painfully in the process), hands scrabbling for the steering wheel. "No no no no no!" he cried out as he attempted to turn the car around, "We just missed our turn!"

Lestrade swore mentally as he moved to try and shove the Doctor away from him, elbowing the other back with equal force. "Go back to your seat, Doctor!" he snapped out, one hand attempting to push the Doctor off from him and the wheel.

Rather than listening to him though, the Doctor only grew more insistent and smashed against Lestrade even more, now pressing him against the side of the car as he took control of the steering wheel. "We're going to lose it if we're not quick enough!" he shouted, stressing his words pointedly as he turned the wheel around a bit too quickly. The man sucked in a breath as he felt the car turning around, feeling a wave of vertigo wash over him as the vehicle wobbled dangerously while turning. While he knew that their weight wasn't going to make his car topple, it still had felt like a pretty close thing.

Once the car had turned around Lestrade did manage to shove the Doctor off him this time, regaining control of the wheel as the other winced at the impact of him hitting his side of the car.

"Ow," the Doctor muttered, rubbing the side of his head gingerly.

"And that is why you don't fight on a car," Lestrade returned pointedly, jaw set in irritation as he made the turn he had missed earlier. It led to an open space at the edge of the city, a part of London where construction hadn't quite touched it as much as it had done to the rest of the city. The man glanced at the lone, decrepit building that stood in front of him as he pulled the car to a stop, hearing the tires crunching on unpaved gravel.

The Doctor made a happy sort of sound once Lestrade had pulled over, getting out immediately and raised his arms in a stretch. "Now that was a good ride," he went as he spun around on a heel, arms still stretched at his sides. "Although it’s never as good as the TARDIS. Nothing beats the TARDIS when it comes to travelling."

Lestrade sent a questioning glance at that, wondering for a moment if the Doctor would explain what exactly was this 'TARDIS' that he talked about. A beat of silence told him however that it wasn't going to happen, and so Lestrade gave a sigh and shifted his gaze over to the building—the building he could now make out as what was most likely an abandoned warehouse.

"So," the man started, gesturing towards the building. "It's inside here, then?"

The Doctor hummed under his breath. "Yes... yes, it should be," he replied, reaching into his pocket to take out his sonic screwdriver (Lestrade was never going to be used to calling it that) and pointed it towards the building. The sonicking sound from before sounded, causing Lestrade to blink in surprise as he watched the Doctor wave said screwdriver with a flourish and stare at something on the handle rather intently. "...yes, it most certainly is in here," he confirmed after a few more moments, looking back up and keeping the screwdriver back into his coat.

More than just a tool that made his shower and kettle randomly burst into song, then. Lestrade nodded back in turn, absently reaching to his side only to remember that he didn't have his gun anymore—he had to turn that in along with his badge when the Yard let him off.

Yet another reminder of his failure.

Lestrade let his hand drop as he tried to squash out the feeling of vulnerability and nakedness that swelled up within him. After twenty years of having to live with it, the knowledge that he no longer had his gun was just a little bit jarring. It was... odd, not having it at his side. And possibly more dangerous too, considering what he was going to walk into.

The man turned back to the Doctor who was currently sticking his tongue out into the air, eyes squinting as he looked up at the sky. Lestrade paused for a few moments again as he stared at the Doctor, giving him a few more seconds with whatever he was doing before speaking. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" the Doctor returned, withdrawing his tongue and smacking his lips. "Oh, I was just checking the air to see if it was safe. The Xenokin can excrete out some rather nasty gas. Completely harmless to Time Lords like me, but I can't say the same for humans." He smiled at that. "But not to worry! It hasn't seemed to do that, so I'm sure you won't die of a stroke anytime soon."

"...thanks," Lestrade returned slowly, wondering now if he should just stay here—or even better, get out of here before anything could happen. The more the Doctor revealed about the Xenokin, the more the man had to question himself as to why he was even here in the first place. He seriously had to be mad to have agreed to this; completely, utterly, mad. But he _had_ agreed, and Gregory Lestrade was not a man to go back on his word.

Then again, it was that thinking that got him to stick with Sherlock, to watch him kick out his drug habit, to stay by his side before John Watson had appeared in their lives. He had met a great man because of that, and he had also seen the fall of that same great man because of him too. Now he wasn't sure if he could ever continue this... but as mentioned before, he didn't have anything to lose at this point. Might as well do whatever he still could while he was still able to.

The Doctor spun around one more time, hands clapping once. "Alright, shall we be off then? Early bird catches the worm, as you humans say."

Lestrade took a moment to steel himself before he nodded. "Lead the way then, Doctor."

Another smile crossed the Doctor's face at that response, and after another spin he did just that, leading the way into the abandoned warehouse. He took off first with Lestrade swiftly following behind, the man doing his best to keep his own nervousness as low-key as possible as they approached the abandoned building. He glanced at said building as they closed in, taking in its look. By all accounts it was hardly the most sinister-looking place that Lestrade had been in—he had been in worst places, including the factory with those kids—but the thought of the Xenokin lurking in there, waiting for them to come in was just…

“No need to worry,” the Doctor piped up as soon as they had reached the entrance, talking as if he had sensed Lestrade’s thoughts, “Xenokin aren’t active during the day—they’re nocturnal, since they’re sensitive to many things during daytime. Right now it should be asleep, so as long as we’re quiet and don’t get too close to it we should be fine, since we don’t want to startle it. Of course, if we do wake it up we’ll be fine anyway, as long as the Xenokin isn’t in a deserted, shady place that’s away from the sun…”

He trailed off right there, glancing over to Lestrade who only returned the glance with one of his own. The man didn’t need to be a genius to know what exactly was wrong with what the Doctor had just said. A deserted, shady place that’s away from the sun? Well, the answer to that was pretty bloody obvious now, wasn’t it?

Instead of acknowledging his mistake however, the Doctor only broke into a grin and turned to the door, whipping out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it to the lock. There was a bit of sonicking, followed by a bit of sparks flying around before the lock broke with a loud clang of metal and dropped to the ground, smoking from the joints.

“I thought we were supposed to be quiet,” Lestrade pointed out dryly as he watched the Doctor kicked the now-useless lock away.

The Doctor turned back at that, giving Lestrade a quizzical look. “Of course we’re quiet; we need to be quiet when we’re inside. But we’re not inside right now, are we?”

…not exactly the point that he was trying to make, but it wasn’t as if he could argue with the Doctor’s logic either. At least on this matter. Biting down a sigh, Lestrade stepped back and allowed the Doctor to do his thing. He watched as the Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver once more and let it sound against the door one more time, running it up and down a couple of times before flicking it and then reading something along the handle like before.

“Alright, we should be safe,” he finally announced after a few seconds, keeping his screwdriver back and proceeding to pull open the door. “After you?”

Lestrade sent the Doctor a mildly unimpressed look at that (he was a grown man, it wasn’t as if he needed to be treated as weak even though he wasn’t an alien) but stepped through anyway, feeling the heat from outside instantly being replaced by the damp coolness of the inside. The place was rather dark and damp, with leftover crates and cargo stacked around the area in a way not unlike that of a maze. There was only minimal sunlight shining in through the gaps of the roof—Lestrade glanced up to look at it, quickly noticing the patches of rust that dotted across the surface. This place must have been left for a good while already, judging by the looks of it all.

The Doctor stepped up from behind him, adjusting his tweed jacket absently as he scanned their surroundings with profound entrance. “Well now,” he started cheerily, “this all seems rather—”

The door behind them shut with a rather loud _bang_.

“—nice,” he finished, voice coming out in a near squeak while the echoes of the bang resounded through the area.

Lestrade pressed a palm against his face. “What happened to quiet, again?” he asked, the tone of his voice somehow coming out even drier than before.

The Doctor rubbed his palms and glanced around again. “Well, I’m sure so long as we don’t make too much noise after this we should be alright—”

A loud clang rang out across the area this time.

“—annnnd that wasn’t me,” the Doctor pointed out, raising his hands up to show his lack of participation this time.

“Wasn’t me either,” Lestrade added, starting to look at their surroundings once more. “So that means—”

The duo only had a moment to turn around and look at each other before all hell promptly broke loose.

“LOOK OUT!” the Doctor shouted out loud as he moved, reaching to grab Lestrade by his wrist. The man barely had a moment to register what was going on before he found himself dragged off by the Doctor, just moments before the Xenokin smashed itself onto the spot where Lestrade had been standing at just seconds ago. He barely had any time to recover from that though, as the Doctor quickly pulled him along into a run before the Xenokin had time to recollect itself.

It didn’t take long for Lestrade to compare how remarkably similar all of this was to last night as he ran down the line of crates with the Doctor, already starting to hear the sounds of the Xenokin starting to recover.

Lestrade glanced around in a bid to find a spot for them to hide, quickly noticing a crack between two stacks of crates that was small enough for both of them to squeeze into. Having found a destination, the man twisted his arm around in a manoeuvre his years of working in the Yard had taught him; in a moment he was the one who now had the Doctor by his wrist, and he gave the other no time to digest that fact as Lestrade tugged him along, yelling out, “This way!”

To his credit, the Doctor followed without complaint, allowing himself to be pulled along this time as Lestrade brought them to the spot he had found. He shooed the Doctor inside first before following after, squeezing himself into the crack and managed to settle in properly just as the Xenokin let out a shrill screech that could have shattered glass.

The man lowered his hands once the screech had stopped, shaking his head in an attempt to get rid of the throbbing in his ears before turning over to the Doctor. “So,” he started, “is there a plan?”

“Plan?” the Doctor returned, tilting his head. “We stick to the old plan, of course. I go out to talk to it, solve whatever problems that needs to be solved and ta-da! Everything’s fixed.”

Lestrade had to resist the urge to bang his head against the nearest flat surface available. “That has got to be the stupidest plan I ever heard,” he hissed back, wondering just how daft the Doctor was. It was clear that the Xenokin had no interest in _talking_ when it was clearly being aggressive—even the Doctor has to realize that.

“You mean it’s the _smartest_ plan you’ve ever heard,” the Doctor corrected as he reached over to pat Lestrade on one of his knees, smiling brightly. “Don’t you worry, we’ll get out of here alive and in one piece.”

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe,” Lestrade returned, rolling his eyes this time. “One of us should at least be armed with a weapon of some sort. There’s got to be something we can use here against it.”

The Doctor paused for a moment, seemingly taken aback by what Lestrade had suggested, and then quickly proceeded to shake his head rather violently. “No no no, no fighting! I hate fighting,” he said it all in a rush, hands rising up and waving in a clear signal of disagreement. “No weapons, no guns. There’ll be no fighting against the Xenokin.”

For a moment Lestrade was tempted to point out the reason why they _should_ be arming themselves against a giant alien centipede that seemed rather set on making them its breakfast, but soon decided that it wasn’t his place to say anything just yet. The Doctor was the expert here, not him, and Lestrade would like to avoid violence as much as he could too; it didn’t seem possible to him by now, but it there was a way for the Doctor to talk to the Xenokin without either party getting injured…

The man let out a huff. “Fine,” he agreed, “no fighting. If you’ve got a better idea on how to get out of this though, I’m all ears.”

The Doctor brightened up considerably at Lestrade’s words. “Of course I do,” he returned, smiling once more. “I’m the master of better ideas, just watch—” He shifted once he said that, going back on all fours as he crawled out of the crack and back into open space. Lestrade watched as the man jumped, arms and legs both flailing as he shouted loudly. “HEY, LOOK, A TARGET!”

Lestrade pressed both palms against his face this time as the Doctor broke into a run outside and subsequently heard the Xenokin starting to go after him. That had possibly been one of the dumbest things anybody could do in a situation like this—but it did work, and Lestrade supposed he had to make use of it while the chance presented itself. With that in mind, Lestrade twisted himself around to crawl out of the side of the crack the both of them had entered from earlier, stretching himself across the floor rather than standing up once he was out. The crates were still giving him cover, and Lestrade wasn’t going to risk losing that advantage while the Doctor was distracting it.

He gave himself a moment before pulling himself up to his hands and legs, going on all fours so that he could stick as close to the ground as possible. He could hear the Doctor still running around with the Xenokin chasing behind, the former’s yelping and the latter’s screeching filling up the space rather well. If there was one thing that Lestrade was certain about being with the Doctor now, it seemed that there was never going to be a dull moment with him—although with that said, he was still trying to decide if that was good or a bit not good.

Then again, this wasn’t really the best time to ponder about stuff like that. Lestrade gave himself a mental slap to drive him out of those thoughts and focus on the matter at hand. The Doctor was keeping the Xenokin occupied (albeit in one of the most foolish ways possible), leaving Lestrade the opening he needed to hopefully put it out of the picture. While he wasn’t certain what exactly would work against it, he supposed a knock to the back of anybody’s head should be more than enough to make anything unconscious. Hopefully, anyway.

Making sure that he continued to remain out of sight, Lestrade pressed himself against the crates as he started to move, crawling on all fours while he swept his gaze across his surroundings in a bid to try and find something he could use. It was times like these where Lestrade wished he could have kept his gun—he might not be able to shoot, but at least he could use the end to do a pistol-whip. Of course, it usually wasn’t enough to knock somebody out, but it was more than enough as a distraction by itself. It would have helped, at any rate.

Another shout from the Doctor brought Lestrade back to reality again, and the man mentally chided himself for going off-track so easily. It hadn’t occurred to him until now just how much being laid off by the Yard had affected him—after having spent over twenty years of his life there it was just… he didn’t know what else he could do now besides chasing down criminals and hunting suspects for every homicide he handled. Maybe if he wasn’t divorced perhaps he might have been better off, but—well, Lestrade supposed that nothing could ever be that easy. Life had never been fair.

 _Focus,_ the man told himself once more as he blinked, checking what was lying around him. He could see several boxes to his right, although then the question came if the boxes did actually contain something—and if so, contained with _what_. He wasn’t going to keep his hopes up (this place _had_ been abandoned for a long while already), but this was the best option that he had right now. 

Keeping his senses alert for the Doctor or the Xenokin, Lestrade quickly hurried over to the boxes while still on his hands and knees, grimacing at the effort it brought to his arms. Yet another not-so-helpful reminder of his age, which was really the last thing he needed at the moment. The man clenched his jaw and willed himself to keep it together, making through the last metre and let out a small sigh of relief as he pushed himself up to kneel instead and reached for the nearest box, opening it up to see what was inside.

First box: countless Styrofoam balls that hid nothing at all when Lestrade plunged an arm into the mess. The man muttered a few choice words under his breath once he was certain that there was nothing he could use, withdrawing his arm and putting the box aside for the next one.

Second box: a batch of Furbies (which Lestrade had to pause at, because this was one of the last things he had expected to see here) that had long since collected a rather healthy amount of dust on their faded furs. Lestrade didn’t even bother to dig through this one and instantly shoved it away for another.

Third box: several cassette tapes and for some inexplicable reason, a pair of red pants at the top. Lestrade stared at the sight before him for several moments before he decided not to think too much about it and quickly put that box away.

Fourth box: expired condoms. All it took was one glance before Lestrade was swiftly closing the box back up and decided that he didn’t need to see it any further than he already did. Some things were just not worth sticking your arm into, even if lives were on the line.

Lestrade grimaced as he put the last box aside, wondering if this was some foul joke that somebody was playing on him. Here he was in an abandoned warehouse with two aliens (one, a murderous giant centipede with tentacles, another much more human-like but also happened to be an utter madman) and currently on his knees, digging through boxes to find not something he could use as a weapon but things that really shouldn’t be found in abandoned warehouses. Not for the first time, the man had to wonder what had happened within the last twenty-four hours of his life.

Aliens. Right.

The grimace remained on his face as Lestrade reached for another box, opening it with the certain expectation that he would find something just as inappropriate as expired condoms. To his luck though, this time said box opened to a bunch of pipes and tools, clearly having been used for maintenance but long since abandoned along with this building. Lestrade quickly selected the most durable item he could find in it (a metal pipe) and took it out, feeling much more confident now that he had something to use against the Xenokin.

He got up to his feet, although he made sure to keep himself to a crouch so as to not blow his cover as he made his way back to the stack of crates he had been hiding behind earlier. Lestrade peered over the edge once he was there, trying to spot the Doctor and see how he was faring.

“I already told you, I just want to talk!” the alien in question was shouting as he ran, keeping himself as far away from the tentacles as possible. “If you could stop trying to eat me—waugh!” the Doctor was cut off when he stumbled and tripped over something, falling onto the ground in a tangle of tweed and limbs as the Xenokin neared him, tentacles starting to rise up.

Lestrade moved before he could even start thinking about it, acting purely on his instincts as he dashed out of his hiding spot with the metal pipe. “Try somebody your own size!” he shouted, running towards the Xenokin, pipe ready and heavy in his hand.

The Xenokin paused in its tracks, starting to turn around and face him. Lestrade took a moment to glance towards the Doctor who had managed to get back up on his feet and looked at Lestrade for a second as well before an expression of alarm crossed his face. “Lestrade, behind—”

There was no time for Lestrade to heard the end of that warning; one moment he was still running towards the Xenokin, and in the next something had grabbed his ankle and _pulled_ , causing the man to let out a yelp as he fell towards the ground. Rather than falling face first on the floor however, Lestrade instead found himself being hoisted upwards by the same thing that had grabbed his ankle, dangling upside down as he tried to kick and struggle his way out.

In the midst of his own struggles he could hear the Doctor still shouting out to him. “Stop struggling, Lestrade! You’ll only encourage it further!”

“Encourage _what_ further?” he shouted back, still struggling.

“Isn’t it obvious?” the Doctor returned, voice somehow rising higher in what seemed to be extreme exasperation. “The Xenokin!”

It was right after the Doctor said that did Lestrade feel a hot blast of air brushing against his neck. The man felt himself freezing up entirely; his entire body tensed as he slowly angled his head and gazed to what was right below him.

Just as the Doctor had said, it was indeed the Xenokin—and Lestrade realized with a jolt that it was one of the Xenokin’s numerous tentacles that was dangling him up now like a piece of meat. It was hard to not go to that description when he could see the numerous red eyes of the Xenokin all staring up and eyeing him like a strip of bacon.

Lestrade gulped audibly. “It’s going to eat me, isn’t it?” he asked very, very quietly.

He was fully expecting the Doctor to answer that question, but before the Doctor could answer the Xenokin opened narrowed its eyes at Lestrade and proceeded to open its mouth, revealing rows and rows of sharp, triangular teeth, all of them lined as several circles that promised nothing but a brutal death if he ever dropped into it. _When_ he was going to drop into it. That was not the most comforting thought.

The man eyed the teeth warily, gulping again before transferring his gaze to the eyes. “Is there any chance we can talk about this like normal people?” he questioned, even though a part of him could easily guess the response he would get. Of course, not that he could actually understand whatever it was that the Xenokin said—

_“Do nooot lump me in with the likesss of yooou!”_

Lestrade paused then, not quite sure if his own growing panic was making him hear things or if he had been knocked out somewhere and was dreaming this again. Last night all he could hear was the screeching; and now, right before he was going to be eaten, he could suddenly understand it? Was this because he was going to be made into a Xenokin breakfast? Or was it because of the tentacle that was around his ankle. Lestrade really hoped that it wasn’t the case—he really didn’t want to think about it.

The Doctor decided to cut in just then. “Like I said, I’m sure we can talk this over properly—”

The eyes on the Xenokin’s right side moved, turning its gaze from Lestrade to the Doctor as it spoke once more in rather clear English (even with the weird inflections). _“We do nooot_ talk, _Doooctor,"_ it hissed, all but spitting out the word ‘talk’. _“There is no need for usss to_ talk. _Once I finish your friend you will be the next, human.”_

“Well,” the Doctor went, pressing his fingertips together as he looked up at the Xenokin. “I guess you _could_ do that—” he started, easily ignoring the loud ‘oy!’ of protest from Lestrade and continued smoothly, “—but I personally don’t like to see things ending bloody. It’s rather messy, don’t you think? What with all the blood and insides spilling around…” the Doctor trailed off to a slight shudder, as if recalling something from days past. He recovered quickly though, and continued to plough on before either Lestrade or the Xenokin could interrupt. “But yes, I’m much more open to talking this out rather than eating people—they don’t taste that well, to be honest. I’ve bitten hands before, you see.”

Even with the current predicament he was in, Lestrade couldn’t help but pause momentarily at the Doctor’s words. “What?” he cried out in an almost shrill manner, far too taken aback to properly keep down the shock in his voice. “Are you telling me that you’re some sort of cannibal?!”

“Wha—no!” the Doctor quickly returned as he glanced up at Lestrade, his hands flapping madly in a way that almost seemed to suggest mild panic. “I’m a vegetarian, I’ll have you know!”

“But you said you’ve bitten _hands_ before!” Lestrade shouted back in return, feeling blood rushing down to his head now. He could easily feel the pressure in his head, slowly but surely building up as long as he was still hanging upside down. It was only going to be a matter of time now before something would happen to him, Lestrade knew—being held like this was never good for any human being.

“Biting doesn’t mean that I _eat_ them!” the Doctor exclaimed with a small flail of his arms. “Now stop asking me questions!”

“I wasn’t—”

“Shh!” he hissed out, giving Lestrade a Look as he put a finger to his own lips in a gesture to shut up. “I’m trying to be clever now so that I can save your life!”

“How can it be clever when you already said it?!” the man shouted again, feeling a vein starting to pulse at his temple. Christ, this entire fiasco was just getting more and more ridiculous by the second. Here he was about to be eaten by a giant alien centipede, and rather than trying to find a way to get out of it he was arguing with a madman instead. His life certainly had gone mad.

The Xenokin spoke up then. “ _None of you will leave this place alive,_ ” it went, hundreds of red eyes flickering between the duo a couple of times before settling its gaze on the Doctor entirely. _“Essspecially you, human. I know that you’ve been trying to track me down for the last few daysss.”_

Was he? Lestrade felt his own curiosity piqued when he heard that, numerous questions already starting to pop up in his mind—questions that wouldn’t be answered unless he could get out of here. The man attempted to struggle with the tentacle again, but there really wasn’t much he could do when gravity was against you. Lestrade only had enough energy to pull himself up for a few moments before giving up again, wincing at the increase of pressure against the back of his head. He really needed to get himself back upright again, and soon.

The Doctor, to his credit, only looked sheepish when that fact was mentioned and smiled slightly. “Oh, so you _did_ notice me. No wonder I could never seem to get you in time—you always slipped away before I could reach you.”

 _“It isss unwissse to chassse usss in the dark, human,”_ the Xenokin hissed, this time in a way that almost seemed smug. _“The ssshadowsss are our plainsss, and none can essscape us once we know your ssscent.”_ A forked tongue flicked out from its mouth then, moving in a way not unlike that of a snake’s as it hissed once more before the tongue withdrew. _“And what a deliciousss ssscent both of you have. You two will make a fine feassst._ ”

“Should I say ‘thank you’?” Lestrade returned dryly, now eyeing the Xenokin with great distaste. Just what he needed, an alien who apparently considered itself a gourmet. His day was just getting better and better.

The Xenokin turned to look up at him, clearly about to say something when the Doctor abruptly started to clap his hands, the sound of it echoing through the building.

Of course, the Xenokin looked back down to the Doctor at that, all of its eyes narrowing into silts. _“What isss that, human?”_ it asked, still hissing.

“Hm?” the Doctor started, “You mean this?” He raised both of his hands while still clapping, and if Lestrade was listening properly he could be certain that the clapping was getting louder no. “It’s called clapping! Have you ever tried it? I quite like it, although—” he paused to glance at the tentacles, “—I suppose clapping is quite hard for you. Then again, I doubt you lot would like clapping as much as I do.”

 _“Wha—”_ the Xenokin began to ask, but then it suddenly stopped halfway, a violent shake wrecking through its body that even Lestrade could feel from the tentacle holding him up. It visibly cringed, all of its eyes squeezing shut as the Xenokin’s expression changed to one of pain. _“What are you—ssstop it!”_

“Echolocation!” the Doctor chirped brightly, nearly beaming. “It’s not fun when something messes with it, am I right? But more to the point—” he stopped and gave one last clap, this one loud enough to thunder across the place and caused the Xenokin to let out a pained, wordless hiss, clearly affected by the echo.

The Doctor quickly took the chance given to him, seizing the Xenokin’s distraction to take out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the lights above them. Wasting no time, he proceeded to activate the screwdriver and the lights flared in a momentary burst of bright light. That along with the sound of the sonic screwdriver only made the Xenokin screech loudly this time, distracted enough that the tentacle which had been holding Lestrade loosened and let him go. The man fell down onto the floor in a grunt, managing to twist himself around just in time so that he wasn’t going to land headfirst (which would be infinitely much more painful)—but it still had been quite a fall and it had _hurt,_ ow. There were going to be a fair number of bruises from this later, he could tell. But first things first; Lestrade began to pull himself back up, helped by the Doctor who soon came around and supported him with an arm around his waist.

“Annnnd up you go,” the Doctor went as Lestrade stumbled back up to his feet, patting him on the shoulders. “How are you feeling? Dizziness? Exhaustion? Feeling like you’re about to keel over?”

Lestrade’s only response was to put on a grimace. “Just the first, but now’s not really the time for this.”

The Doctor glanced over to the Xenokin who was already starting to recover. “Point taken,” he returned, already reaching over to grab Lestrade’s wrist. “Follow me!”

“Like I have another choice in the matter,” the man muttered under his breath as he allowed himself to be led off by the Doctor. He was still pretty shaky from having been suspended upside down for the last couple of minutes, and it was going to take a bit before he recovered from it all. Following the Doctor, Lestrade chanced a glance back as they began to put distance between them and the Xenokin, watching as it recovered wholly and let out an angry, wordless screech in their general direction. He didn’t need to hear that in English to know what it was after.

Lestrade turned back to the Doctor, asking loudly. “Do you have a plan?”

“Of course I do!” the Doctor answered, not even bothering to look back at Lestrade as he did so. “I already told you, I’m the master of plans!”

“You mean the one where you went out and shouted ‘I’m a target’?!” the man returned, somehow managing to convey his dryness even though he was already half-shouting by this point. “That wasn’t a plan, that was being an idiot!”

“But it worked, didn’t it?” The Doctor looked back at Lestrade briefly and grinned. “And this is a better plan than that one. Just trust me!”

And the mad thing was that he still _did_ , even after everything. Sticking around with Sherlock surely had to be the reason why he had become this trusting of people who were clear madmen, but somehow Lestrade just knew that he could believe in the Doctor. He bit his lip as he debated his answer for a moment—although really, there was only one he could give in return. “…fine. Just don’t let either of us get eaten, you hear me?”

“Loud and clear!” the Doctor returned, smiling once more as he turned back to look ahead and pulled Lestrade with him through the lines of boxes and crates. It was a bit like running through a maze now since the man had no idea where he was now, but the Doctor seemed to know very well where he was running to and Lestrade supposed that was what he could trust in. The Xenokin continued to screech aloud as he heard boxes and crates being knocked over, presumably in a bid to find the both of them.

“It’ll never suspect where we’re going,” he heard the Doctor half-whisper to him in something that seemed like excitement, this time grinning as he tugged the man’s wrist at a turn. “Come on, we’re almost there.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A momentary break in the TARDIS.

It didn’t take long from where they were to get out of the building; one more turn and a bit more running and Lestrade found himself back out into the sun again after bursting through one of the side doors. Still, there was no time to relax—the Xenokin had most certainly noticed them when they made their exit (they had made quite the racket when they had exited, after all), and unless they managed to make a complete getaway it was going to be a matter of time before it found them and ate them. Certainly not the most comforting thought.

Instead of running for their lives the moment they were out, the Doctor stopped in his tracks about ten steps in and started to look around instead. Lestrade couldn’t help but worry when they stopped, although he also knew that asking the Doctor why would just cause them to lose time. The Doctor had asked Lestrade to trust him, and that was what the man was going to do now—even if it didn’t look right at first. Neither of them had been eaten so far, so Lestrade supposed something had been going right from the Doctor’s point of view.

“This way,” the Doctor went after a few more seconds, seemingly having managed to determine where they needed to go next. Once again Lestrade let himself be pulled along by his wrist, following the Doctor in a rough ten o’clock direction towards a cluster of trees and bushes. Perhaps there was some sort of hidden passage there? It was uncommon, but not unheard of. Still, so long as it helped them to escape from the Xenokin, Lestrade wasn’t going to be particularly picky about how things were done.

Still following the Doctor, Lestrade went through the first cluster of bushes that stood at the front, going right into the shadows of the trees around them—and then promptly stopped when he saw what was standing before him. It was big (it should be big) and tall and blue (although he was pretty certain it wasn’t this shade of blue) and certainly not belonging around here. Or at least, not outside of a museum.

Lestrade stared at it for a moment before he finally managed to speak. “…it’s a police box.” A police box from the early nineteen hundreds, to be exact. He hadn’t seen any one of these since he was a little kid. Well, he had seen pictures of them through the various textbooks he needed for his detective training, but it had been a long, long while since he had seen one in real life. Or one that looked like it was right out of his childhood, for that matter.

The Doctor had already let go of Lestrade and was making his way over to said police box while the man gawked, smiling fondly as he reached out to pat the box by its side. “Sorry to have to make you wait so long, dear,” he started to speak, seemingly addressing… well, it. “But I’m back, just as promised. No hard feelings, eh?”

If the sixties police box wasn’t strange enough, the fact that the Doctor was talking to it certainly could take the cake. Lestrade turned his gawking to the Doctor now, still at a loss on the situation. As if everything in the last twelve hours hadn’t been strange enough… “Why are you talking to a police box?”

The Doctor turned over to Lestrade and raised an eyebrow. “Why do you think it’s a police box?” he asked back in return.

“Why do I _not_ think it isn’t a police box?” the man replied pointedly, gesturing towards it now. “The thing just looks like it came right out of my childhood. Or my textbooks, for something a bit more recent.” Well, twenty years ago recent, but his point still stood. What was an old-fashioned police box doing right here?

Rather than answering his question, the Doctor’s face lit up instead in an expression of surprise along with a dash of smugness. “Oh, so you know where it’s from!” he half-exclaimed, turning back to the police box and smiled at it. “See, dear, people still do remember you! That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

Lestrade pinched the bridge of his nose. “Doctor—” he started to speak, but a familiar hiss from the distance cut him off.

 _“You cannot essscape me, humansss,”_ the voice of the Xenokin sounded loud and clear, even with where they were hiding. _“The light will not ssstop me from hunting you down. No matter where you run I will find you, and I will ssskin you. Be prepared. I am coming.”_

The silence that came after those words told Lestrade all that he needed to know. He quickly looked up to the Doctor again, voice tense as he asked the question. “So? What do we do now?”

The Doctor looked back, one eyebrow rising up again. “What do we do? We continue with the plan, that’s what we do.”

“But what is the plan—” Lestrade started to ask, but before he could finish his question the Doctor had reached over to drag him once more, bringing him to the doors of the police box. The abruptness of the action took Lestrade by surprise, and he couldn’t help but let out a yelp of surprise when the Doctor pulled him over. It took a moment for the man to recover after he was brought over, but once he did Lestrade was sending a glare to the Doctor. “What was that for?” he questioned, voice coming out in a snap.

“To make this easier for all of us,” the Doctor returned, once more using his ‘I’m not doing it outside but I’m actually rolling my eyes in my head’ tone of voice. “Stop asking stupid questions. There’s a Xenokin after us and we need to get out of here before it does reach us.”

“Good to know we finally have our priorities sorted out,” Lestrade muttered to himself in an undertone then, but the Doctor easily waved it aside and continued on.

“Alright, no more time to waste now. Into the TARDIS we go, Lestrade!” With that said, the Doctor pushed open the doors of the police box (TARDIS? Was that supposed to mean something?) and walked in. Still not quite sure what was going on Lestrade moved to follow suit, stepping inside the police box after the Doctor—

—and promptly stumbled back out, gawking yet again at the _thing_ he had stepped into moments before. This was a police box, he was sure of it, so how can…

The Doctor made a frustrated sound and darted back to the entrance, grabbing Lestrade’s wrist once more to get his attention. “I know that you’re confused right now but I promise to answer your questions later. But first we need to get out of here before either of us really becomes dinner.”

Lestrade turned his gaze back down to the Doctor at that, blinking at the other for a few moments (because, just… _yeah_ ) before finally nodding his agreement.

The Doctor instantly smiled. “Great! And now we _really_ need to go, so find something to hang onto once you’re inside.” And having said that he pulled Lestrade back into the police box and closed the doors behind them while a familiar _whoop whoop whoop_ sound played from the outside. The ground beneath his feet lurched as the sound reached its peak, nearly causing Lestrade to fall down to the floor. He managed to keep himself upright though (mostly by leaning against the nearby wall for support) while the tremors continued. It went on for a few more moments before subsiding entirely, and at the same time the Doctor let out a satisfied noise as he leaned against the railings.

“Annnnd that’s what I call a quick getaway,” he all but chirped, looking distinctly proud while he looking at a screen in front of him. He looked at said screen for a few moments before turning back to Lestrade, who was still standing near the entrance and staying very still. The Doctor watched him for another couple of seconds before finally asking. “Is something the matter?”

All Lestrade could do was to keep on gaping at the utterly impossible sight that lay in front of him. “The police box, its—”

“Bigger on the inside?” the Doctor quipped helpfully, complete with hopeful gaze.

Lestrade swallowed once at the words before he nodded. “Yeah,” he managed out after a pause, continuing to stare at everything and trying to wrap his head around it all. “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to say.”

What had greeted him inside of the police box was the most impossible sight ever. It was a giant room—a giant two-storey room complete with curved stairs and a winding upper passage at the side. All around him stood things and items and a whole lot of impossibilities that shouldn’t even have fit into a police box but was somehow still there, standing around at sides and corners and it was honestly starting to make Lestrade’s head spin trying to think about and make sense of it all. And he hadn’t even started on the giant piece of machinery that stood in the centre.

The man forced himself to move after a few more moments, knowing that his eyes were still as wide as saucers while he gazed at—well, everything. A police box that was bigger on the inside… and just minutes ago he had thought things couldn’t get any weirder. _This_ really took the cake for the weirdest thing he had seen.

He finally turned his gaze to the Doctor when the other clapped his hands, easily noticing the amused expression that the Doctor had on his face. “This is only just the beginning, you know. The TARDIS is just one of the many great things outside of your little world.”

“Is that what this thing is called?” Lestrade asked back in return, climbing up the few steps to where most of the lights and sounds were coming from.

“You mean my spaceship?” the Doctor went, following Lestrade as the man gazed at the many levers and buttons and switches that lined all around the… consoles, he supposed that would be the best thing to call them. “It’s called the TARDIS. T-A-R-D-I-S,” he spelled out the name, emphasizing each letter. “All capitals, like the TARSTER!”

Of course, the TARSTER. Now it wasn’t so hard to figure out how that word had come out. “And I guess that’s an acronym for something too?” he inquired after going one round around the TARDIS console, looking up at the Doctor with a questioning glance.

The Doctor quickly nodded in response, smiling proudly. “Now you’re getting the hang of this!” he said happily, moving past Lestrade with a spin in his step and reached for the console. “It’s short for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. But TARDIS sounds much better than that mouthful of a name, don’t you think so?”

Well, when the Doctor put it that way then yes, Lestrade supposed that he had a point. Still, it wasn’t as if the man would have any particular opinion on how police boxes from the nineteen hundreds that happened to be larger on the inside should be named. If the Doctor called it the TARDIS, then it was going to be called the TARDIS.

Lestrade couldn’t help but glance around him yet again, still attempting to take in the impossible sight. It was like stepping into another world entirely—he could see corridors from several areas, all of them hardly looking short at all. Rooms upon rooms of things, he thought, turning his gaze down to the giant console lying before him. A whole world all contained in a single police box; more than ever, it was hard to deny the fact that the Doctor was an alien, and that he simply wasn’t dreaming all of this up. Still, the man pinched himself one more time, just to be certain of the fact.

“Ow,” he muttered, wincing slightly at the sharp sting of pain. He quickly rubbed at the abused skin, soothing it back out as he turned to look at the Doctor who was whizzing around the consoles, the smile from before still on his face as he went about, pressing buttons and keys and pulling numerous levers, twirling about as he moved from place to place. The _whoop whoop whoop_ sound from earlier was gone now, replaced by a _whoosh_ that reminded Lestrade of the inside of an airplane, except that this sound was notably quieter.

The Doctor glanced up to the screen he had been looking at earlier after a few more moments, eyeing it for a second before making a satisfied sound. “Right, we should be safe now,” he announced, pulling the screen over to where Lestrade was standing. The man let his gaze fall onto said screen, blinking at the visual of countless stars and galaxies that was shown on it. He could make out grid lines and some sector numberings, but that was the most he could understand. Other than the fact that he just realized that the universe was truly a large place—much larger than anyone could have ever thought of, perhaps.

It was a bit hard to digest.

“I know it’s all very complex and hard to understand, but just look at these dots—” the Doctor continued as he pointed at two blinking dots which had just appeared on screen, one white and another in a bright yellow. “—the white is us, and the one in yellow is where the Xenokin is. As you can see we’re at the opposite ends of the screen, which is displaying from your galaxy to the Plese galaxy. That’s about…” He paused for a moment, counting the distance with his fingers. “Thirty… forty… well,” the Doctor stopped then, easily waving off his calculations. “Let’s just say we’re very far away from the Xenokin.”

Somehow Lestrade wasn’t sure if he should feel comforted by those words. Well, it was good that they had managed to get away from it, but with the way the Doctor had spoken… “I’m no longer on Earth anymore, am I?”

The Doctor gave him a mildly unimpressed look at the question. “Is spelling things out a trait most humans have?” he asked, “because you really don’t have to. I’d have thought it was obvious enough.”

“You just whisked me out of Earth in your bloody police box,” Lestrade replied with a brief glare to the Doctor. “I think I have a right to spell things out for the moment.”

“You’ll get used to it quickly,” the Doctor easily returned, already waving it off again as he busied himself with moving the screen back to its original spot. “And it’s not a real police box, mind, it’s just _looks_ like a police box.”

That fact was already pretty obvious to Lestrade, of course—but he wasn’t going to tell the Doctor that just yet, since a good part of him was still digesting the fact that all of this was disguised as a bloody police box. “It’s still a police box to me.” Granted, it was an utterly impossible police box… but it was hard to not relate it to a police box since he just knew that image best. He had been in the Yard for twenty years, after all.

The Doctor scoffed quietly. “And this is why I usually don’t take policemen with me. All stuffy and formal and always going with rules. Doesn’t it get boring at times?” he asked, looking over to Lestrade with a sceptical expression.

“The rules are there for a reason,” Lestrade answered as he crossed his arms, resisting the urge to roll his eyes while at it. “And it’s just your luck that I do happen to be a detective, so you’re just going to have to deal with it.” Well, _former_ detective now to be precise, but the logic was still there. He didn’t spend twenty years working in the Met for nothing.

To his credit though, the Doctor didn’t correct Lestrade on that note and instead only looked rather put out with what the man had said. “Like I said,” he started, crossing his arms as well, “ _boring_! Growing up and being all responsible-ish is always such a chore with you humans. It makes all of you so ploddingly dull at times.”

Lestrade squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to sigh too obviously. “Well, it’s not like any of us can just take a spaceship and go around the universe as we please.” Certainly, he could see the thrill of it—if he was twenty years younger, he would be all for it himself too. But now he was old and tired and weary of so many things, and all he could think about was how quickly anyone could just run into danger and then die if they ever got out to the universe. The Xenokin was just one of the many things (both good and bad) that awaited them in this big, wide space.

The Doctor’s only response was to smile. “Of course you can,” he replied all too easily once again, spinning around on the spot. “Although I suppose that isn’t for another couple of centuries or so from your time. But still, that day will come.” The Doctor started to busy himself with the controls of the TARDIS once more after speaking, pulling levers and pressing buttons and then typing on the typewriter-like device that sat rather prominently on one side of the console.

For a moment Lestrade found himself pausing at the Doctor’s words, latching onto _‘not for another couple of centuries or so’_ in particular. Of course, his mind then proceeded to pointedly remind him that the Doctor did happen to be a time traveller as well, which meant that the TARDIS was basically a time-travelling space machine. Time And Relative Dimensions In Space, he had said. Now the name made much more sense. Of course, that also meant that things were even more surreal than he could have ever imagined, but by now Lestrade supposed he should be expecting this. Nothing ever to be expected while the Doctor was around.

“Right,” the Doctor started then, his voice pulling Lestrade out of his thoughts. He looked back up to the Doctor, who was gazing back at Lestrade in turn and smiling in a way that was becoming rapidly familiar. “So here we are at the outskirts of the Plese galaxy, far far away from the Xenokin. It can’t get us here, but we just can’t leave it back on Earth to go around eating more humans too. So!” He twirled around, arms outstretched. “We need a plan to keep the Xenokin contained. Stop it from eating anybody else and negotiate with it properly. Sounds easy enough, yes?”

“It only sounds easy when you say it like that,” Lestrade answered dryly. It was pretty clear to him that the Xenokin seemed to want to do nothing eat but eat them during both of their encounters. He certainly couldn’t see any rhyme or reason that it would simply change its mind on a third meeting. If anything, Lestrade was more certain that the Xenokin would just find a way to take them by surprise the next time and actually eat them up proper.

The Doctor let out another scoff. “Of course it’s easy, nothing is ever too difficult if you try hard enough. And when you’re me, everything is possible as well.” He smiled once more, adjusting his bowtie. “I’m the Doctor, after all. Trust me, yes?”

Lestrade didn’t immediately answer to that; instead he just looked at the Doctor, the look on his face contemplative. A few moments of silence passed between them, somehow heavy and profound and revealing all that could not be told through mere words alone.

Eventually the man sighed quietly and rubbed his cheek, glancing away. “You’ll have to forgive me if I find it hard to trust a man who wears a bowtie,” he deadpanned.

“Don’t make fun of the bowtie,” the Doctor went as he adjusted said bowtie and tried to scowl irritably, although the smile on his face softened that attempt rather fairly. “Bowties are cool.”

“They’re old fashioned, that’s what they are,” Lestrade quipped back, even as he straightened himself up properly and started to walk around the consoles, glancing at them with a critical eye. He knew he was hardly going to understand any of them, but they did look fairly interesting—there were a lot of levers and buttons from one glance, much more than just one person would ever be able to handle. It did seem that the Doctor controlled the TARDIS fairly well, but he was pretty sure that it would be better if the TARDIS had more than one person piloting it… although he wasn’t entirely sure how that was supposed to work. Alien technology was most certainly not his division, let alone space (not to mention time) travel.

The Doctor made a disbelieving snort in return, but didn’t add any more to the argument as he followed Lestrade around the TARDIS console, pointing at some of the more prominent-looking levers and buttons and happily explaining their functions to Lestrade (who of course, could barely understood a single thing that the Doctor was saying).

“That one stabilizes the field around the TARDIS so that she goes through the Time Vortex safely,” the Doctor went as he pointed to a lever with a bright pink handle. “And that one—” he reached out to pat at another lever that looked strangely similar to one of those old-fashioned joysticks Lestrade himself used to play, “—this one just sorts of… scans the area around the TARDIS when I need it too. I’ve been travelling all across time and space, but sometimes I still find places that I haven’t seen before. I love it when that happens, it’s hard to find something new these days.”

Lestrade raised his eyebrows, his curiosity piqued by the Doctor's words. “How long have you been travelling, then?” It certainly sounded like the Doctor had been around for a long time—he seemed to be awfully familiar with a lot of things.

The Doctor paused at that, a thoughtful expression crossing his features while he considered his answer. “About a thousand?” he replied after a pause, blinking as he looked at Lestrade (who's eyes had widened quite a bit when he heard the number). “More or less, anyway. I've lost count a long while back.”

A thousand—Christ, that had not been what he was expecting. Lestrade found himself effectively stunned into silence at the response, unable to do anything else besides staring at the Doctor in shock. A thousand years travelling around the stars? How could he ever... “A thousand years?” he echoed once his mind had managed to recover. “All by yourself?” God, a thousand years alone. Lestrade had no idea how anybody would have ever managed to go through that for such a long time. (And with that said—just how old was the Doctor? He hadn’t asked that question yet, and now he wasn’t certain if he actually wanted to. Even now he was feeling small next to the other.)

“Well, for the first hundred years or so,” the Doctor corrected, pulling a few more levers before he turned around and leaned against the console. “After that I started having people with me.” He glanced upwards when he said that, looking at the roof of the TARDIS as he continued fondly. “Oh, they were all marvellous, every single one of them. Never a dull moment when they were around; it made everything worth it.” The Doctor turned his gaze to Lestrade then, the smile never leaving his face as he finished. “They made things good.”

 _Make things good._ Wasn't that what Lestrade wanted to do most of all? To do good, to bring good to the people even though he had to deal with the worst of humanity on a daily basis. Humans weren't nice, he knew, but a part of him still wanted to believe that there was still some good that made everything worth it. The little good things in life like waking up in the morning and enjoying a good toast, the good days like anniversaries and graduation days. And then good people like Sherlock, who may have been annoying as hell but had never deserved to die.

The man closed his eyes and sighed quietly, pushing away his darkening thoughts once more. There was no use dwelling on what had already happened, even with the guilt still weighing down on him every single day. He turned his head just a little to regard the Doctor with one eye, contemplating on his words for a few moments before asking the question that had formed in his head. “What happened to them?” He supposed many of them had left once they were too old to keep going, if the Doctor had spent several hundred years going across time and space.

A wry look crossed the Doctor's face then, and he kept silent instead of answering immediately. Lestrade, of course, couldn't help but feel a tinge of worry gnawing at him at the sudden silence, and his expression grew concerned. “Doctor?” he asked again, this time much more gently.

“Some of them left,” the Doctor said in response, looking over and giving Lestrade a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes this time round. “Others had to be left behind. And sometimes—very rarely—they...”

Lestrade had dealt with enough of these things to understand what the Doctor was about to say when he trailed off—no matter how old you were or how many times it had happened, each one never got any easier. Loss was never the easiest thing to go though, especially when it involved somebody who mattered to you. This was something that Lestrade knew very well now.

The man put on a small smile as he reached over and patted the other on his shoulder. “It happens to the best of us,” he said quietly. “Don't blame yourself over it.” Even as he said that, though, Lestrade wished he could take his own advice. The human mind could be a very tricky thing at times.

The Doctor remained silent for a while more, but eventually he smile that quiet, mirthless smile again and pushed himself off the consoles, turning back around to face them and started to pull levers and press buttons once more. “Right! So, a plan. We need a plan, a very clever plan.” He looked up to the screen hanging above him, examining it closely with a frown. “So clever that the Xenokin would never expect it at all.”

Lestrade started to walk around the consoles as he pondered over what to do as well, trying to figure out what would work. “A trap?” he suggested, passing by the screen and glancing at it as well. It wasn't the map that the Doctor had shown him earlier, but rather a 3D picture of the Xenokin along with a bunch of complex circular sigils linked with each other. The man stared at it for a moment, attempting to figure out what the symbols meant—after a minute all he got out of it was a massive headache.

Drawing back, Lestrade rubbed at one of his temples, trying to soothe out the pain as he turned to the Doctor (now typing away at the typewriter-like thing he saw earlier). “Doctor,” he started, pointing at the sigils on the screen. “What is that?”

The Doctor let out a quizzical hum as he moved around so that he could look at the screen as well, blinking at what Lestrade had pointed at. “Oh, that? That's Gallifreyan.”

Lestrade couldn't help but blink as well at the answer. “Gallifreyan?” he echoed, questioning.

“The language of the Time Lords,” the Doctor explained, already starting to move back to the typewriter-like device. “Don't worry, its perfectly natural that you wouldn't be able to understand it. The TARDIS doesn't translate that.”

The man opened his mouth about to say something else in return when the words properly sank into his mind. _The TARDIS doesn't translate that._ It didn't take a genius to figure out the exact implications of those words, and Lestrade was no fool. He turned around to face the Doctor. “So earlier, with the Xenokin—”

The Doctor glanced up to Lestrade. “That was the TARDIS, yes. Translation matrix! She gets into your head and makes you hear everything in the language you recognize most—English, in your case.” He looked back down to the typewriter and started to type again (or Lestrade assumed it was typing anyway, since that was what it looked like to him—but who knew how these alien devices worked). “That also works vice-versa, of course. When you speak with others who don't speak your language the TARDIS translates it out for them, so to them you're actually speaking their language.” He looked back up at Lestrade and beamed. “Isn't she fantastic?”

“I suppose,” Lestrade answered, although a part of him was still not sure what to think about a spaceship/time machine getting inside his head like that. But he had to admit that it was a useful thing—it'd certainly solve the language barrier, at the very least, and Lestrade had went to France enough times to know how much of a pain that can be. “So, does that mean I'm speaking your language to you now? Gallfreyan?”

“Oh no no, you're speaking English,” the Doctor answered, smiling again. “I've been around you lot long enough to know the language. It's really confusing though, what with your nouns and tenses and adjectives. It's a wonder you all manage to string up a single sentence without something happening.”

Lestrade made a small snort at that. “Ask the people who made them up, I certainly didn't ask for it.” And he had to admit, the Doctor did have a point there—Lestrade could easily remember how much he had to struggle with all these rules when he was still studying. In the end he had to drop out so that his siblings could go to school instead, but he made up for it later in life. But it was still quite a pain in the arse to get through it all.

The Doctor seemed to be taking Lestrade's advice rather seriously, though, since he paused momentarily in his typing to think about it. “Hmm, perhaps I should. Of course, that's after we deal with the Xenokin.” He mused loudly as he returned to the typewriter device again, typing a bit more before letting out a 'hah!' when the typewriter chimed aloud. He then proceeded to tear out the paper from the top of the feed, running back down the stairs from the console with a spin in his last step, holding the strip of paper against the light from the top of the TARDIS.

Lestrade followed the Doctor down the stairs, wondering what it was that the Doctor had managed to do, but the Doctor was already folding up the piece of paper and keeping it in one of the pockets of his trousers. The man shifted his gaze down to the pocket in question, one eyebrow already arching up. “What was that for?”

“Just some coordinates I had to search for,” the Doctor answered, already moving past Lestrade back up to where the consoles stood and started to walk around them again, gaze fixed onto the gaps dotting at the floor below where the consoles stood. The man turned around, watching the Doctor walking around the consoles for a few more times before he let out another shout and jumped down from the upper ledge to one of the smaller holes, going down on his knees and whipping out his sonic screwdriver in the process.

The man walked up the stairs and made his way over to where the Doctor was kneeling, frowning visibly. “What are you doing?” he asked, moving to crouch next to the other.

The Doctor let out a hum in response. “Just need to get out something from the storage here. A little bit of sonicking, and—” he stopped when there was a loud clang. “There we go.” He kept back his screwdriver and reached inside, tongue peeking out in-between his teeth as he managed to grab something inside and attempted to drag it out. Lestrade watched the Doctor seemingly struggling for a few seconds before shifting himself to help out, but when he stood up there was a brief squeak of metal and the Doctor let out a shout of surprise as he fell onto his back due to the force of his own tugging, a circular metallic panel in hand.

Lestrade could only let out a small sigh and bend down, extending a hand. “You alright there?”

The Doctor made a face. “Just a little bit of bruising, nothing to worry about.” He reached up to grab the offered hand, allowing Lestrade to pull him back up to his feet. Once he was up again the Doctor put down the panel in his hand, placing it on the ledge above him before he returned to the now-opened storage, kneeling at the side once more and reaching into it with both of his arms, starting to rummage around for whatever it was that he needed. Lestrade stood back, watching but ready to help if the need ever arose.

He kept an eye on the Doctor as the other continued to dig around his storage compartment, taking out a wide variety of items in his search and putting them aside. Lestrade watched as the pile steadily increased, each addition somehow getting more and more ridiculous as well—there were things like stuffed animals to toy train sets, what he could make out as a complex-looking coffee making machine along with several slinkies (metal, plastic and something that vaguely looked like jelly), a whole bunch of complicated-looking equipment and a whole lot of boxes, both small as well as big.

Lestrade did try to control himself, but it was to not let his curiosity get the better of him with each new item, and when one of them (a strange ball that looked far too plain for being in a storage compartment for who knows how long) rolled to his feet the man couldn’t help but cautiously nudge it with a foot. The ball reacted to it, much to his surprise, and Lestrade watched as thin lines slowly began to appear on the ball as it lit up from the inside.

 _“Thank you for picking Chromos Services,”_ the sphere started to speak in one of those fake, too cheerful voices he’d usually hear in Tesco’s. _“We are pleased to inform you that it has been two hundred and ninety seven thousand, three hundred and thirteen days since you have last visited Satellite Five.”_ The lines around the sphere became much more prominent now, settling into clear divisions, and Lestrade blinked when said divisions began to detach itself from the main body of the sphere and moved, whirring and clicking as the sections began to rearrange itself into a rectangular screen.

The screen flickered to life as soon as it was assembled, showcasing a variety of maps and snapshots along with a 3D image of what looked like a giant cylindrical structure ringed by three big hoops. Lestrade leaned forward now, peering closely at the screen as it flashed several more images, all of them passing by too quickly for the man to catch properly. There seemed to be something about foodcarts and news stations, something that looked like it could come from that one game show he used to see on the telly often and a flash of bright blue—

“Didn’t anybody tell you that it was rude to peek?” came the voice of the Doctor from right beside him, causing Lestrade to jerk back in surprise. He nearly stumbled into another one of the potholes, but the Doctor managed to catch him before he could fall down entirely, quickly getting him back upright once he managed to get a hold of him.

Lestrade glanced over to the Doctor when he was on his feet again, looking rather apologetic. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Although it was really the thing that had started by itself and curiosity had always been a trait of his—the years had helped him manage it properly, but this was pretty much a whole new level. Hard to _not_ be curious, really, when something new was flashing right in front of your face.

“Rude?” the Doctor echoed, somehow sounding incredulous as he hopped back up to the TARDIS consoles. “Curious, yes, but most certainly not rude. Curiosity’s what I like about you lot. Wondering about everything and anything in the universe! And oh, the things you people do to satisfy that niggling need,” he paused and smiled. “It’s absolutely amazing.”

For a moment Lestrade could only stare at the Doctor a little, not exactly sure what he could say here—and to be honest, there really wasn’t much one could say in return to something like that.

“Er,” he started after a moment, feeling that he still should say something in response (even if he had no idea what exactly he _should_ say). “Thanks. I think.”

The Doctor’s smile only grew at that, and then he was spinning around again, twirling as he descended the stairs to the lower floor. Lestrade did likewise, climbing back up onto the upper floor as well, straightening himself before he followed the Doctor down toward the main doors. He turned back to look at Lestrade once the man was close enough, grinning brightly.

“Alright, so! Back to business!” he went, already looking back at the door. “Before we go back to Earth what we need is—” the Doctor abruptly stopped himself there, seemingly contemplating on something for a few seconds before speaking again. “No, wait, we’re in the wrong galaxy. We need to head to Orteck for this work.”

Lestrade blinked. “That’s… where the Xenokin was from, yeah?”

“Quite correct, although that was a long time ago,” the Doctor replied as he unceremoniously shoved something onto Lestrade’s arms. “Hold this for me and stay here, would you? I need to bring the TARDIS over to the right galaxy. Hold onto something if you’re going to fall, but make sure you don’t break it. It’s very delicate.”

The man took a moment to watch the Doctor heading back to the consoles before turning his gaze down to the thing that had been placed into his arms. It was… like almost all the alien things he had seen so far, there really wasn’t any exact words he could use to describe it. The closest approximation he could manage was that the item that the Doctor told him to hold resembled a clothes hanger, except that it was bigger and a lot more complicated-looking.

He returned his gaze back to the Doctor, who was currently busy running around the consoles and pulling a lot of levers once again. “Doctor, just what—”

“Questions later, Gregory!” the Doctor interrupted him with a wave of his hand as he skidded around a turn, the other hand grasping onto the biggest lever that adorned the controls. “Hold on tight now!”

Lestrade only had a split second to flatten himself against the nearest bit of wall he could plaster himself on before the Doctor pulled down the lever. The ground lurched beneath his feet once more when the TARDIS started to move, engines humming loudly, and Lestrade had to take a moment to wonder if all spaceships were like these because if that was the case, he could see why many people wouldn’t like it. Every trip seemed to be an effort by itself to go through.

The Doctor nearly tumbled over as he grabbed onto the consoles to steady himself, somehow managing to keep his balance even as the entire place rumbled and shook as they went from one galaxy to the next. Lestrade could hear him laughing, excitement audible with every tone and once again he was reminded so strongly of what an utter _madman_ the Doctor was. A madman with a penchant for Jammie Dodgers and owned a police box that wasn’t a police box and also happened to be bigger on the inside.

And still, somehow, in spite of all of that, Lestrade didn’t find himself fearing the Doctor at all. The him of years past would have been, but now—after twenty years in the Met, after _Sherlock_ —there were not as many things he was scared of now, and a madman with a box somehow just didn’t seem to be one of them even though a part of him knew very well that he should be, under all accounts.

He wasn’t sure what to think about that.

The floor gave another lurch just then as the place shook one more time before coming to a complete stop, the engines turning quiet again. Lestrade cautiously looked around just to make sure that everything was alright before he started to straighten himself, relaxing the hold he had on the thing that the Doctor had passed onto him.

“The stabilizers must be on the fritz again,” the Doctor remarked as he came down the stairs, making his way back to where Lestrade was. “Usually I’d fix it as soon as it starts to get a little bumpy, but—” he stopped himself yet again, turning away with a wry look on his face. “Well, now’s not the time to harp about the past. Anyway!” He took the clothes hanger-like thing back from Lestrade with a smile and turned to the door (after another spin, of course).

 _Need what?_ Lestrade thought, frowning as he thought about those words for a moment before he decided it was easier to just simply ask. “Doctor, just what do you mean—”

The Doctor opened the doors of the TARDIS right at that moment, and Lestrade instantly stopped speaking because—just—

—wow.

There were no other words he could use to describe what he saw. Just ‘wow’.

Certainly, Lestrade had seen space in an abstract sense—science-fiction movies, pictures on the internet and things like that, but none of those held any sort of comparison to the real thing right before him. It was—he couldn’t find the appropriate words to describe what he was seeing now, because it just wasn’t anything like the Earth in the slightest. Nebulas, stars, galaxies—all of those words crossed his mind, but none of them could ever fit this. It was just… space. Space, so big and wide and incomprehensible and now, even more than ever, Lestrade could just feel how small and how utterly insignificant he was to the universe. He was just one man, and the universe was so much more than he could ever understand.

He heard the Doctor making a quiet, amused sound beside him as he saw the other lean forward from the corner of his eyes. “That’s the look I always love to see most. That wonder, that amazement, that respect for the universe and all that it holds.” He turned to Lestrade and for the second time since he met him the man could actually see a true, genuine smile on the Doctor’s face. “It’s why it never gets dull when I have people to travel with me.”

Lestrade glanced at the Doctor after that, silent for a few moments before he spoke. “It _is_ amazing. I can see why you like to show this to anyone who’s willing to go with you.” Not that he would himself, not really—he was old now, old and tired and so weary of Earth itself, let alone the rest of the universe. Lestrade knew that he wouldn’t last long here at all; better to be practical about this than think about something that could never happen to him. He wasn’t the kind of bloke that the Doctor would ever bring along with him—not when there were greater people compared to him.

Greater people like Sherlock Holmes.

And there he was again, thinking about Sherlock when he had told himself for the umpteenth time that he _wouldn’t_. Thinking about him wasn’t going to bring him back, nor was it going to change everything that had already happened. Of course, with the Doctor and his TARDIS it was incredibly tempting to ask if he could turn back the clocks and return to that moment where everything fell apart… but he was sure there were rules against that. After all, if that were ever possible Lestrade was sure that the Doctor would have done so to save the companions he hadn’t been able to the first time—and then there wouldn’t be so much sorrow and regret showing on the Doctor’s face.

Time to move on before the silence made either them start to dwell on darker thoughts. Lestrade leaned back, stepping away from the edge of the TARDIS as he gazed at the scene outside for another moment. “If we’re in space, why am I breathing when the doors are open?” Not to insult the Doctor, of course, but it didn’t seem like the TARDIS was actually equipped with the needed equipment to supply him with oxygen. Or perhaps it was just more alien equipment at work again; he wouldn’t be too surprised if that was the case.

“Oh, that’d be the TARDIS’s doing,” the Doctor quickly answered, turning to Lestrade with a grin. “Amazing, isn’t it? One of the reasons why the TARDIS is always the best way to travel. But that aside—” he paused to properly whip out the hanger-thing in his hand. “—time to do what we actually came here for.”

Lestrade eyed said item suspiciously, still not quite certain how a clothes hanger (or at least, a thing that looked a lot like a clothes hanger) was going to help them out here. “And that would be…?”

“To get ourselves some fragments of nanosuperflouride particles,” came the off-handed answer as the Doctor fiddled around with the hook part of the still unknown clothes hanger-like thing. “They’re invisible to the naked eye, of course, which is why it’d be useless if we try to get them manually. That’s why we have this little thing—” he shook the hanger for emphasis “—to help us get them.”

The man looked at the hanger again after the Doctor’s explanation, personally finding it rather hard to believe anything he had just said (and well, not even knowing what this ‘nanosuperflouride’ in question was—he was just going to assume that it was some element not on Earth). “Are you sure that thing will work?” It wasn’t that he doubted the technology itself, but seeing the item in question wasn’t as overwhelming as he thought all alien technology might be. 

There was a pause as the Doctor looked up at Lestrade, staring at him for a few moments before he turned back to the hanger and hummed thoughtfully. “Well, to be perfectly honest it has been a few hundred years since I did use this, so it might be rather outdated.” He stopped fiddling with the hook as he said that, digging into the folds of his tweed jacket and taking out his sonic screwdriver, sonicking the hanger without wasting another second. There was a whirr and a click as soon as the Doctor directed his screwdriver at it, and Lestrade watched as the hanger lit up in a variety of flashing lights before it started to transform, reassembling itself into the shape of a rather large, rectangular bubble blower.

Still not as grand-looking as he thought it would be, as far as important, possibly life-saving devices could go.

“Right!” the Doctor started once the thing had properly assembled itself, holding it up and waving it around as the device beeped in a way that wasn’t dissimilar to a metal detector. “So, like I said, this is a little bit outdated, but nano-superflouride isn’t new, and it also isn’t a hard thing to spot—just tiny enough to be invisible.” He turned around and back as he said that, watching the device as he did so, only stopping when he was properly facing the opened TARDIS doors. “It shouldn’t take long for us to get some.”

Lestrade still wasn’t quite convinced at how this was all going to work out. “And how are you even going to get some of that… nano-whatitis?” he questioned, glancing at the device and the Doctor with another frown.

“Nanosuperflouride,” the Doctor clarified for him, shifting himself so that he could properly grab onto the side of the TARDIS’s doorframe. “And it’ll be tricky at first, but all we need is just the tiniest bit of it. Once we have that, the rest will be easy enough.” He moved around again, attempting to angle himself properly. “Nanosuperflouride have a rather special property, you see.”

The man blinked. “What special property?”

“Well—” the Doctor stopped for a moment, seemingly having managed to find a proper angle now as he readied the device in free his hand, the other attempting to find something it could use as a suitable handhold. He struggled for bit, not really managing to grab anything that was particularly suitable, and the Doctor let out a frustrated sound as he glanced back with a scowl. “Blimey, if I only had something to hold onto properly—” He stopped in his words when he caught sight of Lestrade, staring at the man for a few moments before his entire face lit up with a look that simply screamed ‘I have an idea’. It was a look Lestrade wasn’t a fan of back when it was on Sherlock’s face, and he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it on the Doctor’s either—especially considering what had happened earlier.

“Lestrade!” The man came out of his thoughts at the call of his name, blinking at the Doctor who was gesturing for him to come over to his side of the door. “Get over here, I need you to be my handhold.”

Knowing that he had little choice in this matter, Lestrade did as asked, taking two steps to cross over from his side of the doors to where the Doctor was. Once he was over the Doctor gestured for Lestrade to hold out his arm, which the man did—and promptly let out an ‘oy!’ of irritation when the Doctor reached over and grabbed the arm in question a bit too tightly for Lestrade’s tastes. The man started to shake his arm to see if he could get the Doctor to loosen his grip, but all he got back in return was an equally irritated ‘oy!’ from the other. “Stop shaking, would you, this is a very delicate operation!”

“I will when you stop trying to tear my arm off!” Lestrade quickly snapped back, scowling. “At this rate you’ll just make the both of us fall out!”

The Doctor looked back in order to send Lestrade an unappreciative scowl of his own. “Well, stop fidgeting around and we can make this quick! Now hold _still_.” He turned back outside after saying that, leaning forward as he raised the device with his free hand and started to wave it about. Lestrade kept silent after that, although he had to grit his teeth at the increase in pressure around his arm, also wincing when he felt fingertips pressing down insistently. This was going to leave bruises, he could already tell.

He looked back up to the Doctor, wondering just exactly how much longer he had to bear with this. “Are you done yet?” he asked, because he really didn’t want to have bruises on his arms—that would be awkward to explain to anyone who would see it after this.

“Almost there!” the Doctor answered. “Just a little bit more—” the beeping from the device abruptly increased at that moment, causing the Doctor to let out a loud triumphant ‘hah!’ before swinging the device forward. Instantly a loud crack sounded out from nowhere, loud enough for Lestrade to squeeze his eyes shut at the sound; a good move, because right in the next moment there was a bright flash of light, and the man grunted as the Doctor pulled himself back into the TARDIS proper, feeling the bite of the other’s strength around his arm.

Once the afterimages had started to fade, Lestrade opened his eyes to the sight of the Doctor leaning against where the man’s side of the doors had been earlier, staying relatively safe inside although his arm was stretched out, holding the device outside of the TARDIS once again.

Lestrade watched the Doctor as he straightened himself and rubbed the spot on his arm where the Doctor had grabbed him, resisting the urge to check for bruises (for now, anyway). “So, did you get it?”

“Hm? Oh, yes,” the Doctor replied, only sparing a brief glance at him but smiling. “We got it. One little particle of nanosuperflouride.”

The man paused, blinking again. “Just one?” he echoed. All that trouble and all they got was one little particle? Surely that wasn’t enough for what the Doctor needed.

Rather than looking disappointed the Doctor’s smile only grew ever so slightly, clearly knowing something that Lestrade didn’t. “That was the hard part. I told you, nanosuperflouride have a very special property, and that is—” he brought the device back inside the TARDIS at that point, and Lestrade could only stare as he watched a gleaming trail of silver following after the device from behind, looking very much like a tail of a shooting star.

And now the Doctor was beaming outright at Lestrade’s reaction. “Nanosuperflouride have a magnetic pull that’s as strong as the Earth itself, and it attracts any other nanosuperflouride particles once it’s been charged with that little bit of energy. See?” He slowed down the speed where he was waving the device, allowing Lestrade to see a cluster of bright green crystals starting to form in the center of the square. It looked a bit like a spiked ball, or perhaps a multi-pointed star—round all over with long, thin spikes protruding out along its surface. Now that he could actually look at the item properly Lestrade also noticed that the sliver trail was actually following it rather than the device itself.

“What is that?” he asked, gesturing to the gleaming trail in question.

The beam on the Doctor’s face only grew at that. “That’s the other nanosuperflouride particles that’ve been drawn in. Don’t they look wonderful?” He slowed his hand even more, reducing his speed to a crawl, allowing Lestrade to watch the silver gleam properly gather at the center of the square as well, swirling around the still-forming cluster of the other nanosuperflouride particles. “Nanosuperflouride is one of the few things that can exist in the vacuum of space, but because of that they’re also really delicate and quite volatile. They have different reactions according to the environment they’re exposed to; like say, Earth—the large amount of carbon dioxide they encounter in the atmosphere makes them burn the moment they break through. So some of those shooting stars you lot see aren’t really shooting stars, they might just be nanosuperflouride particles burning up instead.”

Lestrade nodded at that explanation, although a part of him was recollecting on other things. He could remember the times during his childhood where he had ran out into the fields with his siblings, bringing them out on the clearest nights so that they could see the stars. He remembered that one time on his brother’s birthday they had all went out to the fields after cake and was just in time for one of the most brilliant sights in his life. It had been a shower of falling stars, wonderful and magnificent and so brilliant, and he remembered one of his sisters saying how much she wanted to have one of those stars for herself. He had spent the next two months attempting to do just that, but of course that had all ended in failure.

Thinking of his past now just made Lestrade wonder just how it had been since he could get to see a sight like that—he had moved out once he became of age and his siblings had all since left for college and university, working hard to get himself into the force and then subsequently rising through the ranks. Over two decades had already passed since then, and yet again Lestrade was reminded of where he was now; old and tired and so very, very lost now. In the span of a few days he had lost his job and everything he had worked for—and more than that, he had _failed_. Failed in the one thing he had sworn to himself he could never fail in, because he couldn’t afford it. Because _Sherlock_ couldn’t afford it.

Sometimes Lestrade couldn’t help but wonder how things would have been like if Sherlock Holmes had never entered the picture, but it was hard to imagine things without him in the picture. Right from the moment he met the other Sherlock had firmly fixed himself into a part of Lestrade’s life, and Mycroft had only made that all the more certain. He didn’t regret it, of course, but times like these…

An excited shout from the Doctor broke Lestrade’s out from his thoughts there and then, and the man brought himself back to reality, blinking as he focused back onto the Doctor’s still beaming face. “What? Did something happen?”

“Oh yes, but it’s nothing bad at all.” The Doctor was pulling the device back in properly now, grinning from ear to ear as he showed Lestrade a rather big and shiny formation of green crystals, the sphere now almost as big as Lestrade’s hand. “We’ve got more than enough nanosuperflouride to concoct our brilliant plan. First we need to make sure that this will be in a secure environment…” He trailed off, already spinning around as made his way back to the consoles.

Lestrade glanced at the Doctor for a moment, watching him hop up the stairs before starting to follow after him. He only managed a few steps when the other turned back around to face Lestrade, gesturing back to the doors. “Close that for me before you come over here, would you? I’d hate to have good old Sexy overwork herself over something like this.”

There was a moment in where Lestrade wanted to ask the Doctor to close the doors himself since he was the one who opened it in the first place, thank you very much, but the man decided to take the path of least resistance and moved back to shut the doors of the TARDIS. The entire place gave a loud groan the moment he had done so, causing Lestrade to pause and glance over to the other.

The Doctor looked around the TARDIS for a few seconds himself when the sound came, letting out an amused sound before he looked over to Lestrade with a smile. “It sounds like she likes you,” he remarked, eyes alight with mirth.

Lestrade wasn’t sure if he should appreciate that comment or not. “You’re talking as if it’s alive.” He didn’t have anything against people liking their… stuff and treating it as if it was a living thing, as strange as he personally found it at times. Everyone had that kind of phase one way or another, he supposed, although his own was relatively early in life. But it was weird to see somebody as seemingly old as the Doctor to have a quirk like this as well. Or again, maybe it was some alien thing that he wasn’t aware of.

Rather than responding to the question the Doctor only hummed, a strange smile on his face as he spun on his feet once again before he grabbed something from the console and tossed it towards Lestrade. “Catch.” Even with the sudden warning, the man had managed to react fast enough and caught the thing that had been passed over to him—he didn’t spend twenty years in the Met without acquiring some reflexes.

Once he had a proper hold on the thing Lestrade held it properly in his hand before looking down to see what it was. The thing in question was a cube, looking perfectly equal on all sides and just big enough to fit in Lestrade’s palm. The man toyed with it for a bit, tossing it between his hands and shaking it against his ear to see if he could determine what was inside the cube; there was no sound.

He looked to the Doctor once more, holding up the cube in hand. “Any chance you’re going to tell me what this is?” he questioned, pointing at said item.

The Doctor only spared a moment to glance up at the cubs from the controls of the TARDIS, blinking at it once before turning his gaze back down. “That’d be the nanosuperflouride, of course,” the other answered easily, reaching over to the side to pull some levers. “The cube you’re holding is a miniaturized vacuum container, built to hold things much more deadly than nanosuperflouride.” He shifted over to typewriter at that point, looking at it with a small grin as he wriggled his fingers in anticipation. “So even if something happened to the nanosuperflouride, neither of us will get affected.”

Lestrade supposed the last part was meant to be a careful consideration for him—not that he felt any better since the Doctor apparently saw the need to inform him, but it was nice to know about it regardless; at least he didn’t have to worry about dying due to some nanosuperflouride reaction or other. Of course, that still didn’t change the fact that he possibly might still end up being eaten by a giant alien centipede with tentacles.

Still not a comforting thought.

The man gave the cube in his hand another look before turning back to the Doctor again. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Hold it for me, I don’t want it falling to somewhere I can’t reach and I need to pilot the TARDIS back to Earth.” The Doctor turned to Lestrade and gave him a small grin. “Got to take precautions and all, since it’ll be hard to gather that much nanosuperflouride again.”

“Right.” At least this time it wasn’t hard to understand the Doctor, and Lestrade nodded, pocketing the cube into the folds of his coat. “Back to Earth we go then, as you said?”

The Doctor smiled and nodded. “Back to Earth we go,” he confirmed, one hand already reaching for the large lever. “I’ve already keyed in the coordinates, so hold on tight in three… two… one… _Geronimo!_ ”

Lestrade felt the ground lurching once more when the Doctor pulled the lever down, although this time he was much more prepared than his previous ones—the man quickly made a grab for the nearest handhold (the rails at the stairs), steadying himself and making sure that he didn’t fall down somewhere due to the cube in his coat. He didn’t want to risk anything happening to the nanosperflouride, since it was going to be vital to whatever the Doctor had planned. He knew that much, at the very least.

It took a while, but after a bit he could hear that familiar _whoop whoop whoop_ sound overlapping the hum of the ship’s engines. Even without the Doctor telling him, Lestrade knew what had happened; they had landed back on Earth, and the Xenokin was going to start hunting them down across the world the moment they stepped out of the TARDIS. Perhaps he should be afraid, but right now all Lestrade could feel a surge of confidence. Confidence in himself, as well as confidence in the Doctor and whatever he had planned. He had a feeling it was probably going to be crazy at first, but somehow—he just knew—that things were going to work out right.

He was with the Doctor, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One more showdown with the Xenokin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MASSIVE APOLOGIES for the long delay. Long story short RL and other stuff (mainly school) kicked my ass big time, and the post NaNo slump was terrible since I hadn't exactly finished writing this part yet when NaNo was over (although I did write other parts ahead, so I did get my 50k in the end). But the good news is that I have finished writing the fic, so rest assured that the last part will be up before Christmas. That aside, please enjoy! And a note that the last chapter will have some tl;dr notes and stuff at the end, just as a heads up. |D

The sun was setting when Lestrade stepped out of the TARDIS, and it was something that the man couldn’t help but blink at in surprise when he went out and saw that the mid-morning sky from earlier had turned into the blazing hues of red, orange and yellow. He looked down at his watch to check just exactly how long he had been away, and stared in a fair amount of amazement when the hands pointed to six and four respectively. Six twenty in the evening… Lestrade mentally calculated the hours, realizing with a jolt that he had actually been gone for nearly half a day. It certainly hadn’t felt like half a day to him, as far as the man could tell.

He paused in his thoughts when he heard the Doctor closing the doors of the TARDIS behind him, turning around to see the other finish locking it up properly before making his way over to Lestrade, doing another one of his spins mid-stride.

“Ah, a sunset,” the Doctor started as he glanced up into the sky, smiling. “Love a sunset, especially Earth’s sunsets—don’t know why you lot can’t just have a time to set aside to watch it, you all should appreciate it more. Sometimes when I’m bored I find a really nice sunset and then keep going back to it so that I can watch it set all over again.”

Well, it was nice and all to hear that the Doctor had such good impressions of the sunset, but right at that moment it wasn’t exactly what Lestrade wanted to listen to, considering their reason for returning here—here, of course, being the abandoned warehouse he and the Doctor had been in earlier. He cleared his throat pointedly and crossed his arms, glancing over to the other. “What’s the plan here, Doctor?” he asked.

The Doctor lowered his gaze back down to Lestrade at that, blinking at the man for a few moments before realization hit him. “Oh! Yes, the plan,” he answered, clapping his palms together and proceeding to rub them. “I had a plan, yes, a very clever plan…”

 _Not so clever if you can’t even remember what it was,_ Lestrade thought dryly to himself. He watched the Doctor starting to pace around a spot, palms still rubbing against each other as the other mumbled ‘clever plan’ to himself over and over again.

Lestrade gave him about a minute and a half before deciding to speak up again. “If you don’t have a plan, then we should—”

“Shhhhh!” the Doctor shushed him loudly, placing one finger on Lestrade’s lips as the other mimed himself zipping his lips up and throwing away the imaginary key. “Quiet, Lestrade! I need to think.”

The man shot a mildly irate look at the Doctor at that, but did as told and fell silent. The Doctor smiled and withdrew his hand before starting to pace around again, repeating his actions from before right down to the mumblings of a clever plan.

This time Lestrade waited about three minutes before he started to speak. “Doctor—”

 _“Shhhhh!”_ the Doctor went over to shush him again, although this time there was a small scowl of disapproval on his face. “I already told you, don’t talk! It’s distracting me from thinking up my clever plan— _ha!_ ”

It was a bit like seeing Sherlock all over again—one moment the Doctor was cross and occupied with something else (him, in this instance), and the next he as off on something else entirely when his mind drew attention to whatever else had had been concentrating on earlier. Certainly, the plan was far more important at the moment, but Lestrade couldn’t help but think how much that all reminded him of Sherlock even if it was clear that him and the Doctor were very much two different people. Still, it was hard to not see the similarities.

And yet another time, Lestrade had to give the Doctor round a minute to flounder around excitedly at his apparent realization before speaking. “So I assume that we have a plan now.”

The Doctor spun around on his heel to face Lestrade. “Yes yes yes, a plan. A clever plan, a very clever one,” he returned with a bright smile before turning towards the warehouse and started to walk at its direction. “Come along now, Lestrade!”

There really wasn’t much of a choice in the matter. Lestrade quickly followed after the Doctor, trailing along behind him. He heard the Doctor breaking into a tuneless hum as they approached their destination, and the man couldn’t help but glance up at the building and eye it warily, not quite sure what to expect once they went in. Night would come soon, and with it the full strength of the Xenokin; Lestrade expected that the only reason why they had only managed to get away earlier was because it was morning, and the sun had already been up for a while. With the sun no longer on their side, he couldn’t help but wonder if that was where their luck would end as well.

The Doctor got out his sonic screwdriver as they neared one of the other side doors of the building, pointing it at the lock do as to undo the mechanism, which happened with a small bang as the lock shifted itself open. Once the door was unlocked the Doctor wasted no time before entering the place, grabbing the now-unlocked door and pulling it open, stepping inside once he did so. Lestrade, of course, could do little else but follow again, also making sure that the door wasn’t going to slam shut behind them—they had probably already made enough noise as it was already.

He turned back to the Doctor once he had quietly shut the door, gazing at the other as he took out his sonic screwdriver once again. The device was buzzing constantly as the Doctor waved it around, the sound echoing loudly within the silence of the building.

Lestrade couldn’t help (again) but stare at the Doctor once more, wondering what had happened to ‘being silent’. “Won’t it hear that?” he had to ask, pointing right at the sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor waved off the concern. “Its fine, it’s not like we’re trying to hide here or anything,” he replied easily as he stopped buzzing around the place and read something that had appeared on the small screen of its handle. A few moments later he was frowning rather notably, and that frown only deepened as the Doctor kept his screwdriver and glanced at the patch of ground in front of him.

Lestrade followed the Doctor’s gaze to the same patch as well, blinking when he couldn’t see anything special about it at all. “Is there something wrong?” he questioned after a pause, glancing over to the Doctor.

Instead of answering the question the Doctor kept his gaze fixed on the ground, staring at it for a few more beats before Lestrade could start to feel the floor shaking beneath him. He let out a shout of surprise as he wobbled, trying to keep himself upright and not fall down. Not exactly the easiest task, considering that he could feel something big and determined burrowing right under his feet, digging around quite insistently from what he could feel.

Still attempting to maintain his balance, Lestrade looked to the Doctor (who was trying to keep himself balanced as well) and quickly questioned him. “Just what is this?”

The Doctor turned over to Lestrade at that, arms spread out as he started to hop backwards, attempting to backpedal from where he was standing. “That’d be the Xenokin trying to get us!” he exclaimed out, arms waving madly.

“What?” Lestrade was, of course, understandably confused, but he started to follow what the Doctor was doing, cautiously stepping back himself, eyes darting between the ground and the other. “You mean it’s underground?!”

“Is spelling things out really something humans tend to do a lot, or is it just a select few that I happen to encounter a lot of?” the Doctor asked back in return. “Because it is getting quite depressing at times.”

If he wasn’t busy trying to balance himself, Lestrade would have thrown his hands up into the air at this point. “Of all the things to be worried at the moment, and you’re concerned about _that?_ ”

“Of course I am, it’s a very important thing to be concerned about!” the Doctor returned, exasperation written across his features. “At the rate this is going, I might need to start making sure that people stop spelling things out like these every single time. It’s rather distracting, really, when I’m trying to be clever. Can’t be clever when everyone’s just rephrasing the obvious—” He stopped with a grunt when his back hit the wall, Lestrade following the second later, and the two of them winced at the slight burst of pain that ran up their spines at the impact.

“…that didn’t go well,” he finished after a moment’s pause.

Lestrade glanced over to the Doctor with one raised eyebrow. “Now who’s the one spelling things out?” he remarked dryly.

The Doctor quickly scowled in response to that. “Oh, shut up—” he started to snap out, only to be interrupted again when the ground started to shake even more, rumbling violently now as cracks started to appear on the floor in front of them, the lines spreading out in a sprawling spiderweb. The duo stared at it for a few moments, watching as the cracks continued to spread out and reach towards their feet.

Lestrade could only stay frozen, paralyzed in fear and uncertainty on what to do next. The Doctor, on the other hand, quickly kicked himself back into action once the surprise had passed. He moved, darting over to Lestrade and reached out to grab him around one of his arms, getting the man’s attention.

“Jump!” the Doctor ordered the moment he had Lestrade’s attention on him, and the man obeyed instantly, jumping away with the Doctor just as the ground split open and the Xenokin burst out from below, screeching loudly. Both Lestrade and the Doctor grunted as they hit the ground by their sides, debris raining around them messily as the two of them twisted around and started to get up.

The Doctor was the first one to get up first of course, and he looked at the Xenokin once he had done so, eyes narrowing for a moment before he shouted aloud. “Oy! Over here!”

Lestrade had been getting himself back onto his feet when he heard that, and once he did the man had to stare at the Doctor with a fair amount of shock, looking at him with widened eyes. “Are you completely mad?!” he asked, panic starting to seep in his voice. They had _just_ managed to escape from being turned into the Xenokin’s latest meal and here was the Doctor drawing it attention back to them. He knew that the Doctor had some sort of plan, but if it was going to involve putting themselves right in the line of danger… “At least tell me you actually _do_ have some sort of plan.”

“Of course I do,” the Doctor instantly replied, turning around on a heel once more so that he faced Lestrade. “Like I told you earlier, I’m the master of plans.”

The man managed to resist the urge to roll his eyes at that, although it was a close thing. Master of plans? More like master of plans that seemed to involve them nearly getting killed. He trusted the Doctor in making sure that things were going to be alright, but in moments like these, he couldn’t help but wonder if they were ever going to be safe at all. He had a feeling that being with the Doctor was a bit like attempting to run across a minefield while being blindfolded.

The Doctor must have picked up something from Lestrade’s lack of response, because he was frowning and leaning in close to the man, eyes narrowing once again as he studied the man’s face.

“You don’t think we’ll be making out of this place alive,” he stated, the words coming out much more factual than Lestrade could imagine the Doctor managing. The fact that it was did stun Lestrade a little, and the man had to gape for a moment before needing to back off because the Doctor had leaned even closer towards him, noses almost brushing against one another.

The Doctor studied him for another moment before speaking again. “You don’t trust that I’ll get us out of here, Lestrade?” the other asked, voice now much more serious than ever before. “You don’t think that I can help you get out of this situation?”

Lestrade took another step back. “You’ll have to forgive me if I do find it incredibly hard to think that we can get out of this in one piece,” he answered, voice dry. They were pretty much cornered, trapped like rats and there was no way they could get past all the tentacles that the Xenokin had. They didn’t even have the advantage of sunlight now, since the sun had already set and the sky was starting to darken around them. It was only a matter of time before evening properly arrived, and then they would be in serious trouble.

A flash of emotion crossed the Doctor’s features then, too brief and too complex for Lestrade to understand when he saw it. There was no time for him to think about it as well, because in the next moment after that the Doctor was holding Lestrade’s face in his hands and leaning close again, close enough so that all the man could see were the Doctor’s dark eyes that bore right into his vision.

“I know that you think all hope is lost,” he started to speak, voice low and quiet, just loud enough for Lestrade to hear. “And I know that you don’t trust me—”

“I do,” Lestrade found himself muttering back before he could even think twice on it.

“You don’t trust me _enough_ ,” the Doctor corrected, and Lestrade had to pause because he knew that was true now that the Doctor had said it. He did trust the Doctor, but that was because he had reminded the man of Sherlock, especially with the crazy ideas and the little regard he had for throwing himself into danger. He trusted the Doctor because he wasn’t able to trust Sherlock in that moment of need, and now a part of him was using the Doctor as an excuse to relieve himself of that guilt so that he could somehow move on with life. He was already over forty; the last thing he needed was something like this to weigh him down forever.

Funny how the Doctor seemed to realize that even before Lestrade came to understand it himself. He opened his mouth, about to say something about that, but the Doctor quickly shushed him before the man could start to speak.

“Just listen to me, Lestrade. Things can go wrong and you might think the world ends with you, but don’t you ever, _ever_ give up hope on living. Living’s the best part of being around. Even where there are good things and bad things they’re all part of your life, so don’t ever give up on it.” He paused then to draw back and look at Lestrade wholly, a small smile on his face. “Promise me that, would you?”

A moment passed as Lestrade stared at the Doctor, not too certain on what he should say or do in response to something like that. Every single time he when was almost convinced that the Doctor was just some madman with a box something like this happened instead and Lestrade found himself caught off guard, unsure of how to react. And how could he know, really? It wasn’t as if he was an expert with dealing with an alien who happened to be hundreds of years old but didn’t seem to act like it most of the time. And really, wasn’t that so much like Sherlock? Old and young at the same time; clever but yet completely daft on some of the things that should matter. It didn’t matter that the Doctor was an alien—a Time Lord—he was still somebody who so strongly reminded him of Sherlock all the same.

And right now, Lestrade knew what the Doctor needed was his trust—trust that he had failed to give before. The man closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, steeling himself before opening his eyes to look back at the Doctor and nodded silently, giving his assent.

Gratitude instantly appeared on the Doctor’s face the moment Lestrade nodded, looking so relieved and _glad_ about it that all Lestrade could do was to feel sorry for the Doctor—sorry because he could now see that something weighed heavily on the Doctor, heavy enough that the other had lost all confidence in himself and needed Lestrade to give him that boost he needed. He had to wonder for a moment what had happened to the Doctor for him to lose faith in himself like that, especially when he had told Lestrade otherwise just moments ago.

Before he could ask anything about that, however, the gratitude was soon replaced with an expression closer to the madman he had first met—a playful, beaming smile as the Doctor let go of Lestrade’s face and stepped back, turning to face the Xenokin that had somehow been waiting for them (albeit somewhat impatiently) throughout this entire thing.

“Sorry about that, I needed to tell Lestrade a few things,” the Doctor started, flashing an apologetic smile. “But now that we’re done, let us all get to the main event, shall we?”

The Xenokin let out a quiet hiss. _“There isss nothing to talk about,”_ it said, multiple eyes narrowing.

“On the contrary, there _is_ quite a lot for us to talk about,” the Doctor quipped back, palms pressing together. “Although I suppose it is true for you.”

For it? Lestrade blinked at the choice of phrase, glancing at both the Doctor as well as the Xenokin—who seemed to look just as lost as the man himself seemed to be, if the way its eyes were blinking could be taken as confusion. _“What do you mean?”_ he heard the Xenokin ask after a pause.

“Something which I don’t think you’ll quite like to hear, so we’ll skip that,” the Doctor replied with a wave of his hand. “But more importantly, we need to talk about you leaving this planet as soon as possible.” 

The Xenokin instantly let out another hiss, this one sounding much lower and infinitely more dangerous than all its other hisses. _“And what makesss you think that I’ll leave this planet, Doccctor?”_ it asked, drawing out name ‘Doctor’ almost mockingly. _“So many sssourcesss of food, and sssuch easssy prey.”_ The forked tongue slid out from its mouth, flicking the air. _“None here can ssstop me.”_

The Doctor’s response was to frown. “And I told you last night, that’s against Section 234 of the Shadow Proclamation. This is a fully established level five planet; you can’t just come here and eat random people even if you’re hungry. That’s just rude, you know. It’s like breaking into somebody’s house and eating their fish fingers and custard.”

Lestrade couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the last bit, because really—fish fingers and custard? Really? Of all the analogies, he went with something like that? …and for that matter, were they even edible together? He turned to meet the Doctor’s gaze, mouthing his question to the other.

Rather than replying the Doctor only smiled back, adjusting his bowtie before turning back to the Xenokin and spoke up again. “But yes, it’s really not nice to be eating people like this. I do quite like them, you know, and I would appreciate it if you could stop it.”

 _“None here can ssstop me,”_ the Xenokin repeated itself, several of its tentacles starting to rise up in a way that was very not promising. _“And none here will ssstop me. I will eat, I will feassst. The humansss will be my prey, starting with the two of you!”_

The tentacles started to move after that, presumably to lunge towards the both of them, but the Doctor quickly cut in before anything could happen, shouting out loud as he raised his hands, trying to get back the Xenokin’s attention. “Wait a moment, just wait a moment!”

Lestrade was almost certain that the Xenokin wasn’t going to listen—but to his surprise it actually _did_ , stopping right before it attacked. The man could feel himself relaxing ever so slightly, although a good part of him was still tense and ready to react at a moment’s notice. There was no telling what the Xenokin would do, and the last thing Lestrade wanted was to be caught off guard like what had happened the previous time.

He watched the tentacles warily as the Xenokin blinked its many eyes, gazing at the Doctor for a few moments before shifting its sights up towards one of the Doctor’s hands. _“What isss that?”_ it asked, both curiosity and suspicion audible in its voice.

The Doctor lowered his hands, smiling. “Ah, so you _did_ notice it! Well spotted, you.” He tossed around the small, grey cube, juggling it playfully in his hands. “It’s something you’d like very much, actually. Had to go back to your galaxy just to get it! Lestrade didn’t like it when he had to help me.”

“That’s only because you were going to tear my arm off,” the man muttered back, just loud enough for the Doctor to hear.

“Well, yes, I apologize for that. Anyway!” The Doctor threw the cube up into the air and spun around on a heel, catching it back into his hands once he had done another one of his spins. “You can probably already guess what I’m holding, yes?”

The Xenokin was silent for a moment before it answered quietly. _“Nanosssuperflouride.”_

“Annnd we have a winner.” The Doctor smiled again and held the cube up properly in his hands, showing it to the Xenokin. “A wonderful little element, nanosuperflouride. It’s crystallized, of course, since it can’t exist in its natural state out of the vacuum of space, but it’s still quite valuable all the same. _Certainly—_ ” he paused there to juggle the cube into his other hand and kept it back in his pocket, looking back to the Xenokin as he finished his words, “—more than enough for several things on your bucket list.

The tentacles shifted, withdrawing. _“And you would give that in exchange for your sssafety?”_ the Xenokin asked, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously.

“For the safety of _this planet,_ ” the Doctor clarified, emphasizing his last two words with a raised finger. “I can give you the nanosuperflouride, but you must promise to never come here again. This planet is not to be touched by any species outside of the Earth.”

A long moment passed as the Xenokin closed its eyes, seemingly mulling over it. Lestrade watched it for a few more seconds before he leaned over to the Doctor and asked him quietly. “Will this actually work?”

“Nanosuperflouride is very precious to the Xenokin,” the Doctor replied just as quietly, eyes focused on the Xenokin as well. “I’m pretty sure it should work—it’s been a while since I’ve met any of them, to be honest, and things tend to change a lot between each time I drop by.”

Lestrade resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “You’ve got a bloody _time machine_ , Doctor. If I were jumping between centuries, things would change a lot as well.”

The Doctor paused for a moment, thinking about that with a thoughtful hum before nodding. “Point taken,” he replied. “But you have to admit, it is quite fun.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” the man returned dryly. “I'm not the time-traveling alien here between us.”

“Well, technically you did skip over all of this afternoon, so if you want to be specific—” the Doctor stopped before he could finish his words, mostly because the Xenokin had gotten both of their attentions with a soft hiss. The duo turned around to regard the Xenokin with curiosity (the Doctor) and suspicion (Lestrade), keeping their gazes locked onto the Xenokin's as it reared itself up, tentacles shifting about restlessly.

 _“Very well,”_ it said, giving its answer. _“I will accept thisss exchange.”_ One of the tentacles closer to them moved, pointing to a spot on the floor in between them and it as the Xenokin spoke again. _“Place the nanosssuperflouride here and then leave thisss place. Once I know that you are gone, I will take leave of this planet as well.”_

The Doctor broke into a smile when he heard that. “Brilliant,” he breathed out, sounding very obviously relieved. “It's not everyday when things can go as smoothly as this.” He reached into his jacket and took the cube back out, holding it up for the Xenokin to look at it once more. “Promise me that you will leave this planet once you have this,” he said once more, looking at the Xenokin straight in the eye without blinking. “I don't take kindly to people who break their promises.”

A low, gurgling sound came from the Xenokin. _“I promissse that I will leave thisss planet untouched. You can have my word on that.”_ As if to emphasize its point, the tentacles started to shift around them again, this time slithering back to its owner as they curled up around the Xenokin in a slippery pile. It glanced at them once all the tentacles had been withdrawn, forked tongue flicking out once before speaking again. _“Your turn, human.”_

The Doctor nodded in acknowledgment. “Alright, well then—” he did another one of his spins, twirling around on his heel before promptly placing the cube into Lestrade's hands. “You do it.”

“Wha—” Lestrade blinked, staring at the Doctor, not quite sure if he was imagining this. The cube felt real enough in his hands, but— “You can't be serious.”

“But I am,” the Doctor replied with a smile that looked far too inappropriate for a time like this. “All you need to do is to walk up and place the cube down. A bit like those hostage situations. You should be more than used to this already, yes? Just think of it along those lines, except that its your planet on the line.”

“That's not helping,” Lestrade found himself muttering out at that moment, because really, that comparison was not helping in the slightest. A human life was hard enough as it was, but the _whole planet_ —there was no way he could handle anything like that, especially not after what happened with Sherlock. It was outright impossible, so why was the Doctor asking him to do this?

He still wasn't sure if the Doctor was actually psychic or not, but he did reach over and patted Lestrade on the shoulder. “I know you can do it,” he went, smiling still. “Trust in yourself, Lestrade. As long as you believe that you can do it, you will.”

Lestrade could only manage to look at the Doctor for a moment before he was glancing away, uncertain. “You make it sound so easy,” he remarked quietly.

The Doctor made a small hum. “Well, why can't it?” he returned, “Not everything in the universe is difficult or complicated. Sometimes things are just a lot simpler than they appear to be at first.” He shifted, moving closer to Lestrade so that he could lean over and nudge the man by his shoulder to get his attention. When Lestrade turned over to face him, the Doctor was smiling back at him. “What do you say? Fancy giving saving the Earth a shot?”

And the thing was that he wasn't ready, not quite, but Lestrade knew that he would never be ready—nobody could ever be that ready to save their own planet. Still, here he was, about to make a trade that would save the planet, and nobody would really know. Which was all fine by him, because if he had ever wanted all that fame and glory he would have never been a cop in the first place. There was never anything glorious about being in law enforcement; just loads of paperwork and having the media hound you when things turned sour in the city.

But he didn't have his job now, and there really wasn't anything for him to lose in doing this—and despite everything he still wanted to be able to do that bit of good for the people. This was a big opportunity for him, and it was obvious that the Doctor was aware of that too. Which was perhaps why he was pushing for Lestrade to do this in the first place. And when he thought of it that way, he couldn't help but think of Sherlock yet again, because this almost seemed like what he would do.

—and of course, now that he thought about Sherlock, there was no way he could say no to this now. Maybe this was how he could start to make amends, or maybe not. Either way, he could do good again... and that was all that he ever wanted, really.

Lestrade closed his eyes and counted to five before he finally nodded. “Fine,” he went, voice still quiet, “I'll do it.”

A smile grew on the Doctor's face with that answer. “I know you can do it, Gregory,” he said, putting a hand over the cube and pressing it properly onto Lestrade's own. “Believe in yourself and everything will be possible once you do.”

The man nodded mutely at the words, gripping the cube tightly in his hands as he turned over to look at the Xenokin. Instincts and logic were screaming for him to run, to flee and hide, but Lestrade managed to stay strong as he walked up towards the Xenokin and looked at it in the eye. He watched the Xenokin stare back at him with its numerous beady red eyes as making that low, gurgling sound again, tentacles twitching around its form. 

_“The nanosssuperflouride,”_ it hissed after a moment, breaking the silence. The Xenokin moved its head, lowering just slightly to gaze at the designated spot between them. _“Leave it here.”_

Nodding once more, Lestrade took the last step forward so that he was now right before the spot. The cube felt incredibly heavy in his hand, its weight a prominent presence, and the man felt himself gulping quietly. He turned his head over to look at the Doctor, who was grinning and flashing a thumbs up back in return. Even though the planet was in danger, it just seemed that the Doctor just wanted to make sure that he could do it and was doing everything he could be give support. Somehow the thought of that made him smile—it felt... good to have somebody who could somehow believe in you that much.

He looked back at the Xenokin after a moment, taking another to steel himself before he bent down and placed the cube on the ground. Once he had done so Lestrade quickly stepped back, putting distance between himself and it, eyes fixed on the pile of tentacles curled around its owner. As he backtracked his steps he saw said tentacles unfurling themselves, some of them rising up again as others slithered over to the cube and wrapped around it, shielding it away from sight.

“Oh—whoops, don't go crashing into me again, once was more than enough.” The Doctor had grabbed hold of Lestrade before the man could bump into him, since his gaze had still been fixed on the Xenokin. Lestrade stumbled momentarily when it happened, taken aback by the sudden action, but he relaxed once he heard the Doctor's voice and turned to face the other with a crooked smile.

“Sorry,” he went, a fair bit of sheepishness in both voice as well as on his face. “Should have been looking where I walked.”

The Doctor waved off the apology. “Nobody got hurt, so no need to apologize.” He turned to the Xenokin after saying that, watching it quietly once more before speaking up to it. “Are you satisfied enough? Will you leave this planet?”

In response the Xenokin looked up from where it had been studying the cube (which was still hidden in its tentacles) and gave the Doctor a plaintive look. _“I already gave you my word that I will leave after the two of you do ssso,”_ it replied.

“Ah, yes,” the Doctor went with a blink, as if having just remembered it. “Sorry, must have slipped my mind. Since we're done here, Gregory and I will be taking off now.” He gave a small wave. “Until next time, I hope?”

The Xenokin was silent for a moment. _“Perhapsss.”_

“Until next time, then.” The Doctor gave one more wave before he turned around and started to make his way out of the building. Lestrade gave one more glance at the Xenokin before following the Doctor behind, walking over to the door they had entered this place from.

“So, that's it?” Lestrade couldn't help but find himself asking once he was close enough to the Doctor at said door.

The Doctor hummed once more, reaching for the door handle. “Seems like it,” he replied, “Usually things do get a little more sticky, but like I said, simple's good—” He stopped himself short yet again when he pulled at the door handle and realized that the door wasn't budging at all. The Doctor frowned momentarily, seemingly confused, and waited for a moment before he tried to pull it again.

Still no response.

“Strange,” the Doctor muttered, more to himself than to Lestrade (who was starting to feel a bit of something not good forming in his stomach). He pulled a few more times before coming to the conclusion that it wasn't working, and then stepped back as he took out his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the door, switching it on. The sound echoed across the area, but aside from that it seemed that nothing had happened, making the Doctor frown even more as he sonicked the door one more time and then read from the display. “Deadlocked.” There was a small, unhappy tone in his voice as he said that.

Lestrade glanced over to the Doctor when he announced that, worry on his features, for even he didn’t need to be an all-knowing time travelling alien to know what ‘deadlocked’ meant. “How?” the man asked.

“It probably happened as soon as the door closed behind us earlier,” the Doctor started, voice coming out in a rushed half-mumble that was more likely for himself rather than Lestrade—but the man had worked with Sherlock long enough to be able to pick up when the consulting detective had been like this, hearing the words and the methods. He did have to fill this in when he dealt with the paperwork for the cases Sherlock gave his word in, after all. “Which meant that it had to be timed, which means it was already pre-programmed. And humans don’t have this sort of technology yet, which means…”

Trailing off, the Doctor slowly turned back to face the front. It wasn’t hard to start feeling that sense of apprehension over something going to happen when Lestrade caught a glimpse of the Doctor’s expression. He started to turn around as well, not sure what he was going to expect when he had done so.

Where the Xenokin had been rather far away from them earlier, now it had moved much closer towards the both of them—and was still coming to them, since Lestrade could see it sort of… gliding across the floor with its tentacles, the appendages leaving a trail slime and slick behind it. 

The Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver and pointed it at the Xenokin. “You lied,” he said, the words plain, simple and very, very cold, as if burning with an ice-cold fire. 

In response, the Xenokin only made a series of half-choked wheezing sounds that was very out of place from the entire situation; it took a moment for Lestrade to make out that the bloody thing was actually laughing.

 _“I would never,”_ the Xenokin said once it had finished letting its amusement out, all of its eyes gazing at the Doctor. _“I offered your sssafety, but you wanted the sssafety of the world instead, and I agreed. I am merely following the wordsss in which you decided your termsss on.”_

Lestrade grimaced visibly at those words; alien or not, looks like some things didn’t seem to change even in other planets. This—using their own words back to them—happened to be one of those things. Right there and then, Lestrade _really_ wished that he could have had his gun with him. At least it would have made everything a lot simpler, even if the Doctor wasn’t going to like it. But really, as much as Lestrade detested violence himself, sometimes a gunshot was what one really needed to get a point across. And this was such a time. 

Especially when the tentacles started to inch closer towards them.

The man quickly spurned into action the moment he caught sight of them moving, inching closer to the Doctor as his eyes scanned their surroundings for anything that he could possibly put to use. Barrels, boxes, crates… all of them providing a chance, but none of them were close enough for him to get to without most likely having to contend with a tentacle or two along the way. There were just too many of them, while he was just one man by himself.

“Doctor,” he started, a wordless question inside that one name. Would they get out of here? Would they survive? And how were they going to manage it all in-between the tentacles and the Xenokin? The chances were very very slim, if not completely gone, and Lestrade wasn’t the most optimistic guy on Earth. Hard to be when you are—were—in law enforcement, after all.

The Doctor readied his sonic screwdriver in response. “Get ready, Lestrade.”

Lestrade did as asked, tensing up and ready to move at a moment’s notice. The Xenokin let out another round of those wheezing noises again, all of its eyes lit with amusement. _“What do you intend to do with that little toy of yoursss, Doctor?”_ it asked in a clear mocking tone. _“Sssound the alarm? Nobody will come here, you know.”_

“Well, no, because I didn’t know there was an alarm here,” the Doctor replied with a small smile on his face—a smile that Lestrade couldn’t find himself comfortable with for some reason. It was quite unlike the other smiles he had seen on the Doctor; this one seemed to promise nothing but a very painful experience in the near future. It was the kind of smile he had seen on criminals and on people like Jim Moriarty when he stood on trial, right before everything went to hell. “—but now that you’ve told me, I would daresay that I have an utterly brilliant plan.”

Another wheeze from the Xenokin. _“And what brilliant plan would that be?”_

 _“This.”_ The Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver up towards the lights, swiftly activating his device, and in the next moment there was (once again) a bright flare of lights from the ceiling lights above them. Lestrade just managed to shield his eyes in time, although the afterimages were still swimming around when he opened them. The Xenokin was making a painful-sounding hiss of its own, some of the tentacles having come up in a (failed) bid to protect its numerous eyes while the others thrashed about, writhing to its owner’s pain.

Lestrade’s attention shifted when the Doctor reached over to grab his wrist, starting to tug him along just like before. “Come on Lestrade, let’s move before it recovers!”

 _“Usssing the same trick twiccce!”_ the Xenokin was hissing out now even as it continued to cringe from the damage done to its eyes. _“Don’t think I’ll fall for it a third time, Doctor!”_

“That is if I have to do it again,” the Doctor muttered in return, his voice only loud enough for Lestrade to hear. But before he could remark on that or say anything in general the Doctor was already pulling the man alongside him once more, stumbling to keep with the Doctor’s pace as they both ran. The tentacles were still flailing about which was good, but also a threat at the same time since the Xenokin would be able to make out where they were if they got into contact with any one of them. And there were a lot of them thrashing about.

The Doctor paused momentarily, still holding onto Lestrade’s wrist as he surveyed the possible routes around them—nothing promising as far as Lestrade was concerned, mainly because they were surrounded by the blasted tentacles. It was hard to not start hating them, considering the trouble they had brought to him in the last sixteen or so hours (or whatever number of hours it actually was).

Continuing to look around, the Doctor turned as he did so, and the fact that he still had Lestrade’s wrist in his grip meant that the man was forced to follow him around when he did so. Left, then right and then left again, and after a few more times of this Lestrade was honestly starting to get quite dizzy. “Have you managed to figure _anything_ yet?” he gritted out after a while.

“It’s quite hard when there are so many of these tentacles lying around,” the Doctor replied, glancing around once more. “Still, if somehow they could concentrate all in one spot…” he trailed off, free hand cupping his own chin as the Doctor quietened to a small hum. “The Xenokin’s still blinded by the lights, so the tentacles would react to something another one senses. If we could make use of that…”

There was something forming in the pit of Lestrade’s stomach now and he didn’t like it, but the man knew he had to press on. “How do we do that?” He had a good feeling it wasn’t going to be nice, but when he was trapped between a rock and a hard place, he was going to take whatever chances he could get.

“Well—” the Doctor started, only to stop and attempt to swallow down an uncomfortable expression. “—one of us has to be the thing that draws their attention, unfortunately. There’s not much in the way of bait.”

Lestrade honestly wished that he could be surprised by that, but somehow a part of him seemed to be expecting that answer. The man sighed, only taking a moment to understand the implications of the Doctor’s response. “I’m going to have to be the bait, don’t I?”

The uncomfortable look on the Doctor’s face grew a lot more prominent after that. “I really don’t like to say it, but… yes, you do have to draw their attention.” He fidgeted a little. “Sorry. I really didn’t want this to happen if I could manage it.”

The man only shrugged in return. “Can’t be helped.” It certainly wasn’t the first time where Lestrade had to do something dangerous after all, although it was probably the first time that he had to do this when aliens were involved. Which most certainly made everything a lot more unpredictable, and considering the current situation there was nothing else to describe this but unpredictable. It wasn’t an ideal situation, not by a long shot. Still, this was all certainly better than trying to deal with a hangover or continuing to brood over the miserable state of his life. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he did have to admit that being with the Doctor was... different. Very different.

He could begin to see why John stuck by Sherlock now; it was hard to let go of somebody who could give you the one thing you needed so much in your life. And to have that ripped away from you right before your eyes, to watch that person jump and fall to his death... it had never been a real wonder why John had hated him for that, but now it made so much more sense.

Sucking in a breath, Lestrade steeled himself, preparing for what was to come soon. He looked around, this time studying the layout of the building and trying to determine which was the best direction to move. “Where do you need to be?”

The Doctor rubbed his hands and started to scan around their surroundings as well, attempting to make out his target. “There,” he replied after a beat, pointing to an area close to one of the corners of the building. “I need to get there so that I can access the alarm system of this place. It shouldn’t take too long... just about a few minutes or so once I’m there.”

“Right,” Lestrade went with a nod, eyeing the Xenokin; it was already starting to recover, giving them little time left. “You had better make a miracle happen in those few minutes, Doctor, or else I’m doomed.” Dead and made into alien food; not exactly a very glamorous way to die.

The Doctor clenched his jaw. “I won’t let you die, Gregory,” he spoke, voice unwavering and certain. “I promise.”

In another time and place Lestrade would have responded to that with a snort, but right now he knew that the Doctor was really trying to keep to his word. He could hear it in the other’s voice, the way he was carrying himself, the determination written across his face. Clichéd, he knew, but the signs were all there, and they were unmistakable. He was going to try, Lestrade knew, try even when the odds were all against him and it didn’t seem like there was a way out. And as long as they tried, there was certainly going to be a way out of this mess. He could believe in that.

Nodding once more, the man positioned himself and started counting down in his head. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he returned, eyeing the stack of crates he had spotted earlier; it seemed to be a decent hiding spot, and the number of crates lying around would make good shields. Or at least, good enough for him to hold out those five minutes. 

All that the man got in response to that was a light scoff. “I never do that.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe.” And with that one last dry retort Lestrade started to run, heading right towards the mass of tentacles lying around and making sure that he made enough noise to attract them. He pushed down barrels and knocked down crates he passed by, drawing their attention. It didn’t take much for it to work; soon enough the tentacles were all starting to move, lashing down onto him on his left as well as his right and Lestrade had to jump around like some superhero in a movie, dodging each tentacle as they crashed near him.

The Xenokin let out a loud hiss. _“You will feed me tonight, human!”_ it went, keeping up its attack, apparently too caught up in its own irritation and anger to not notice that the Doctor wasn’t with him. One good thing, then, he supposed; it would be hard to keep this up if it had noticed.

Lestrade continued to dodge the tentacles as they came in the next bit, ducking to the side when one crashed onto the ground rather violently and sent dust and bits of concrete flying around. He managed to use the cover of dust to get to the crates, hunching to get behind them for protection. He let out a small sigh of relief when he had managed to get there, eyes closing shut as one he pressed his palm right against his chest over where his heart was, feeling it beat strongly as the sound pounded between his eardrums. Just a moment’s break He just needed a moment to rest, and then—

The crates above him smashed into pieces.

It didn’t take much to figure out what happened; Lestrade was already starting to move when he heard the crates being smashed, but he only managed a few steps before something cold and slimy and familiar was wrapped around his ankle and pulled him in the opposite direction, forcing him to fall to the ground. The only reason why the man wasn’t hurting all over when he did was because he had managed to put his arms forward, using them to take the brunt of the impact. Of course, it had hurt a lot, and the sting of pain was unmistakable—but it was better than crashing to the ground completely.

Growling under his breath, Lestrade jerked his caught leg hard, attempting to dislodge the tentacle off him. But all he got for that was the tentacle tightening around his leg, strong enough that he could feel it cutting off the blood flow there and the resulting numbness that was starting to grow in his leg due to that. And if that wasn’t enough, the other tentacles were starting to swarm around him, curling around his other limbs as well and gripping him tightly, holding the man down in place onto the ground.

Lestrade swore mentally as he tried to move, tugging his limbs against the weight and strength of the tentacles, but it was a futile effort, and the man swore again as they tightened even further. Behind him he could hear the Xenokin let out that strange laughter once more, this time much more chilling than the rest, and when the man turned his head he found himself staring directly into hundreds of crimson red eyes, everyone of them reflecting his face back in turn.

 _“You will be the firssst,”_ the Xenokin promised darkly as it flicked out its forked tongue once again, tasting the skin on Lestrade’s cheek. The man suppressed a shudder as he felt that tongue, wet and cold and absolutely revolting. _“I’ll drain you dry and then pull your skin apart, piece by piece. Watch the bitsss and piecesss break off before I devour them.”_ It leaned closer, close enough that Lestrade could smell the horrible stench of the Xenokin’s breath right on him. _“Are you afraid, human?”_

The man opened his mouth, more than ready to say something along the lines of ‘not at all’ when the Doctor’s voice cut in, ringing across the building before Lestrade could say a word. “Afraid? Of course he’s afraid, look what you’re doing to him!”

Both Lestrade and the Xenokin turned their gaze around, taking a moment before they spotted the Doctor standing right next to the fire alarm with a confident look on his face. 

The Xenokin narrowed its eyes, hissing. _“Asss he ssshould be. Asss you ssshould be too.”_

All the Doctor did in response was to roll his eyes, scoffing aloud. “Please. You’re just one Xenokin and there are two of us.” His expression then swiftly hardened, taking on a look that was much darker than any of the other faces that Lestrade had seen on the other so far—and frankly, it was terrifying. “You’re the one who should be afraid here, not us.”

There was a brief pause after those words, and then the Xenokin broke it with another of its wheezing laughs. _“Are you that foolish to think that you can win with numbersss?”_ It managed out in-between its laughs, sounding clearly amused. _“And I thought you humansss couldn’t be even more foolisssh.”_

“Foolish?” the Doctor echoed. “Sometimes, yes. And stupid. And misleading. And confusing. And so many other things. But they’re so much more than that.” His hand moved, hovering over the panel that would activate the fire alarm. “Things you’d never understand, because you already got one thing wrong.”

The Xenokin hissed again. _“And what would that be, Doctor?”_ it asked.

A triumphant grin broke across the Doctor’s face. “I’m not human.” And with that said, the Doctor slammed his hand down onto the fire alarm, allowing hell to break loose in the form of shrill ringing and gallons of water raining down on them from the sprinklers above. The Xenokin instantly drew back, screeching loudly at the shrill ring of the bell as it wrecked havoc on its hearing, tentacles instinctively withdrawing along with its owner.

With the distraction provided to him, Lestrade managed to wriggle his way out of the tentacles holding him down, twisting to get out of the last ones around his ankles before scrambling back up on his feet. The Doctor had already started to move around while Lestrade was busy with getting himself free, running over to the man with his sonic screwdriver in hand.

“There,” he went as he reached a hand out in order to help Lestrade back onto his feet. “Didn’t take too long now, did it?”

Lestrade sent the Doctor a brief glare in response. “I felt like I was waiting forever,” the man shot back, his tone particularly irritable.

“Rubbish, it was only three minutes.” He paused to give the Xenokin a glance, watching it still reeling from the fire alarm that continued to ring around them. “Right, we’ve managed to get ourselves some time again, and I managed to spot something that might just help us get out of here.” The Doctor grabbed Lestrade by his wrist once more, starting to pull the man along as he started to break into a run. “Come on, we don’t have much time.”

Nodding, Lestrade hurried alongside the Doctor, following the other’s steps towards another corner of the warehouse where he could make out something notably large standing in the shadows. The water raining on them was making things hard to see, but as they got closer to it the shape did get a lot more distinctive, and eventually he could see that the thing in question was actually a…

“Forklift,” the man breathed out once they came to a stop in front of said vehicle, not able to believe their luck. After all, just what were the chances of a forklift being abandoned like this? Still, he wasn’t going to think too much on it—regardless of how the forklift did end up being thrown away here, it was still their ticket out; it should be strong enough to bash through the doors of the building and grant them their much needed escape.

Beside him, the Doctor nodded. “Right,” he went, staring to move towards it. “There’s only one seat and the two of us, so we’re going to have to share somehow.”

The Doctor’s words brought Lestrade out from his reverie. “Wha—” he started, turning around to send the other a look of amazement. “You want us to squeeze into it?”

There was a moment before the Doctor seemed to get the question, and then he paused halfway in clambering onto the forklift, raising his head and giving Lestrade a questioning gaze. “Well, do you have any better suggestions?” he returned, voice sceptical. “I’m open to anything clever.”

“…” Well, when the Doctor put it that way, Lestrade supposed that he had a point. The man bit down a sigh and nodded once more, quickly making his way over to the forklift as well. “Fine. But I’m going to drive it.” After the incident with the car, he wasn’t exactly inclined to trust the Doctor with anything that wasn’t the TARDIS.

The Doctor’s made a small snort in return as he shifted, giving Lestrade enough space to settle on the driver’s seat while he mostly held on to the edge.. “Alright, alright, I don’t want to waste time arguing over petty things like this. Although really, it’s not like I can’t manage a simple forkli—”

 _“Doccctor!”_ came an all too familiar hiss from the distance.

Lestrade reacted instantly, reaching for the power button and flicking the vehicle on. He pressed down on the pedal, biting on his lip as he heard the engine rumble for a few moments before starting to splutter uselessly. A glance to the dashboard showed told Lestrade all that he needed to know what had happened. “Doctor, it’s out of battery!”

A scowl crossed the Doctor’s face at that. “Of course it had to be out of battery,” he muttered irritably, more to himself than to Lestrade as he reached into his jacket and took out his sonic screwdriver, pointing it towards the forklift’s engine.

While the Doctor attempted to get the engine working again Lestrade spared a glance over to the rest of the abandoned warehouse, where the Xenokin had managed to pull itself through the sounds of the fire alarms and was now forcing itself towards them both. He could its eyes glinting through the cascade of water, gleaming dangerously as the tentacles started to slither towards where they were. Not good, most definitely not good.

Lestrade turned back to the Doctor, who was still attempting to sonic the engine into working. “Doctor!” he shouted out, both as a plea as well as a warning. They needed to start moving soon, before the Xenokin could get them both again.

The Doctor made a frustrated sound. “I know, I know, just—” he stopped, hissing irritably as he sonicked the engine one more time. “C’mon, work!”

Muttering a few choice words under his breath, Lestrade tried to start the engine one more time but to no avail. He looked towards the Xenokin again, who was laughing once more as it inched ever so closer towards them, tentacles following alongside it. 

_“Looksss like it’sss the end of the road,”_ the Xenokin started, almost drawling its words mockingly. _“Nowhere left to run now; all that’sss left is for me to sssuck you dry.”_

Not much time left now; it was starting to boil down to a matter of seconds. Lestrade gave the Xenokin one last look before glancing back at the Doctor, starting to hiss through his teeth. “Doctor—”

“Just a bit more, I almost got it—” the Doctor began, squinting with one eye as he tilted his screwdriver just a little and activated the sonic once more, letting out a shout of triumph after a moment. “Ha! There, got it!” he turned back around to face the front, grabbing whatever handholds he could to keep himself within the forklift as he shouted aloud. “Start the forklift, Lestrade!”

“About bloody time,” Lestrade returned, “Hold on tight, Doctor!” He wasted not a second more after saying that, reaching over and started the vehicle properly this time. It was sweet relief to hear the sound of the engine working properly this time, the hum of the electric motor unmistakable as the man grabbed hold of the steering wheel and jammed his foot down onto the pedal. The motor jumped to life the moment he did so, hum now turning into a roar as the forklift lurched into movement. It started slow at first due to prolonged disuse, but once the parts had warmed up once more the vehicle gave another lurch and started to quicken.

The Doctor let out a shout of both triumph as well as excitement. “There we go!” he went, sounding very pleased about it all—and Lestrade supposed if he could, the Doctor would have done one of his spins. As it was, the other settled for grinning like an absolute loon and started to direct Lestrade on where to take them. “Alright, Gregory, take us out of here!” he started, using his sonic screwdriver to point out the way.

Lestrade followed the directions without question, driving around and past the tentacles, glad that the forklift wasn’t relatively large—even if it made sitting difficult. But really, between that and dying, the man was much more inclined to the former. He made sure to go on maximum speed, barely managing to avoid some of the tentacles that had shot out in a bid to try and block their way, and seriously, if it wasn’t for the fact that it was actually happening _right now_ Lestrade would have said that this would be the most ridiculous thing he had ever done. Ridiculous, but exciting… and exhilarating.

He couldn’t remember when had been the last time where he had felt this alive.

“To your left, Gregory! To your left!”

The man quickly pulled himself out from his thoughts, twisting the wheel around to bring the forklift swerving almost dangerously to his left. With the speed and velocity of that turn, some of the tentacles that had been in the trajectory of the forklift’s blades got sliced through cleanly, sending dark blue blood flinging across the floors and the shriek of the Xenokin crying through the abandoned warehouse.

As the forklift steadied itself after that turn the Doctor glanced back to look at the damage, wrinkling his nose a little as he saw the trail of blue goo oozing behind them. “Well, that didn’t end very nicely.” He bent down as much as he could, reaching with one hand to pick up bits of it and proceeded to sniff it before making a face that easily showed his disgust about the smell. “Ungh.”

Lestrade snorted. “You should know better than to pick up strange stuff and sniff them,” he went pointedly.

The Doctor’s response was to pout. “Well, I had to know, it’s been ages since I saw a Xenokin! And it was there anyway, so I just figure why—”

Another screech from the Xenokin interrupted his words. Both the Doctor and Lestrade turned around at said screech to see that the Xenokin was now chasing them from behind, tentacles starting to lash towards them—unable to reach them for now, but drawing closer with every passing second.

Lestrade swore mentally and turned to face the Doctor with a scowl, who looked back at the man as well. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know, just—” the Doctor paused to glance at the Xenokin once more before he started to take out his sonic screwdriver, pointing it towards the engine yet again. “—just keep driving!” he finished, and then proceeded to sonic the engine once more.

The forklift lurched once more when the Doctor did so, causing Lestrade to let out a small yelp of surprise when he was slightly thrown forward towards the wheel. At least he managed to prevent himself from crashing into it entirely, which would have been far worse considering their current situation. Still, that was only a minor inconvenience, and once Lestrade had a second to right himself again he quickly noticed that the forklift was picking speed—too much speed, really, for a forklift.

Lestrade quickly made a swift right before the vehicle could bang into the wall coming up in front of them, shouting in surprise again at the sudden increase of speed in that turn. It was only because of the fact that he had been in high speed car chases before that he could manage to regain control of the forklift and let it settle back steadily instead of having it tumble over from the weight and velocity. Beside him the Doctor was letting out another one of his madman laughs, a sound that the man found himself disturbingly familiar with, considering it had been less than twenty four hours since he had met the other.

Once the forklift was properly steady and running straight the Doctor shifted, leaning down so that he was close enough for Lestrade to hear what he said next over the increasing roar of the engine. “With this speed, we should be able to crash through the doors!”

“I’d think that would be bloody obvious!” Lestrade snapped back, glancing behind once more to see if they had managed to put more distance between them and the Xenokin. So far it did seem that way—the Xenokin was starting to shrink into the distance as they picked up speed, a fact that the man was very glad for. Perhaps they could make it out of here in one piece after all.

He turned back to the front, pressing down hard on the pedal and started to drive them closer to the side of the building where all the doors would be. “Which door are we going to bust through, Doctor?”

“The one we came in from, of course,” the Doctor returned with a slight disbelieving tone in his voice as he shifted, bracing himself better within the small confines of the driver’s area and gestured towards one of the doors they were approaching. “Third door on the left, if you’ve forgotten!”

“I got it!” the man returned, locking his gaze onto the door that had been pointed out and directed the forklift straight towards it. The Xenokin seemed to be long behind them no, which was good, since it meant that there was nothing blocking their way out—

The Doctor suddenly flew to the steering wheel and grabbed it with his hands, shouting aloud one warning— “Duck!” —before abruptly turning them to the right. Lestrade barely had enough time to do as instructed before the forklift did a sharp turn due to the Doctor’s sudden twist, tires screeching loudly against the floor as it swerved to the side but somehow managing to not topple over. As they recovered from that the man could feel the ground shaking from underneath, rumbling dangerously for a few moments before there was the thunderous _crack_ of cement being spilt open.

Without thinking about it Lestrade turned to look back, eyes widening when he saw the sight before him: it was one of the Xenokin’s tentacles, except that it had come from _underground_ and had burst right through the floor, breaking through the concrete and out into the open. He turned his gaze upwards, scanning their surroundings for any sign of the Xenokin itself, but there was nothing.

Beside him, the Doctor let out a soft hiss of irritation. “Don’t bother trying to find it, the Xenokin’s underground now,” he informed the man as he scanned the ground around them with a frown. “It’s burrowing from below to try and surprise us.” He slowly let go of the steering wheel, leaning back once more so that Lestrade had his space once more. “Take back the wheel, would you?”

Lestrade did so without complaint, taking back control of the steering wheel—although this time with not as much confidence as before. “Now what do we do?” he asked.

“Now much we can do besides sticking to the original plan,” the Doctor replied, scanning the area once more. “Xenokin are much faster underground—their homes are burrows, after all.” He paused, giving the engine a passing glance before speaking up again. “And we don’t have much time now before the engine overheats and explodes, it wasn’t designed to handle this much energy.”

“Oh, _thanks,_ ” the man returned with a scowl as he started to turn the forklift around to face the door once more. “As if things weren’t bad enough already.”

The Doctor let out a ‘tsk’, shifting himself again. “Chin up, Lestrade, it could always be worse,” he returned. “At least the only people in danger here are the both of us.”

“Forgive me if I don’t see how that is supposed to make me feel better— _Jesus Christ_!” Lestrade cut himself off when the floor right in front of them suddenly spilt open with a massive crack, chunks of concrete flying out and landing everywhere as a large figure was visible through the settling dust. It didn’t take a genius to make out just what exactly said figure was. The man was already starting to react the moment the ground cracked before them, ready to turn the forklift around again, but the Doctor was moving before he could, grabbing Lestrade and throwing the both of them right out of the forklift.

Caught totally unaware by that, all Lestrade could do was to give a loud shout of surprise as he flew out from the still-running forklift, and for a second it seemed as if time itself had slowed down—he could see the ground slowly rushing towards him, but his limbs were heavy and uncoordinated in midair. Behind him he could hear the sound of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver along with the starting screech of the Xenokin—and then just like that, time came back into order once more as Lestrade hit the floor roughly face first, the Doctor landing beside him just as ungracefully on his back. 

Right after that, however, was the audible sound of a sharp object going right through something fleshy, a loud crash that was accompanied briefly with an equally loud screech before all of that was swallowed with an ear-splitting explosion. 

Lestrade quickly pulled himself back together as soon as that explosion sounded, twisting around on the ground to face a surge of roaring flames at where the door—as well as Xenokin—had been just moments ago. He was close enough to feel the heat of the fire running over and into his skin, soaking to the bone. Too taken aback by the explosion, all the man could do was stay where he was and continue staring at the fire as it kept on raging. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the Xenokin was dead; alien or not, there was no way anything could have survived that explosion, let alone the current fire… or the fact that he had run a forklift over it.

The man could feel himself freezing up at that last thought, ribs suddenly contracting and forcing the air out from his lungs as the magnitude of what he had done finally sank into him. He had just run a bloody forklift over an alien. He, Gregory Lestrade, had just killed an alien by running a forklift over it. And then said forklift had exploded with the alien still there. By all accounts, he had more or less just committed murder—even if the other party wasn’t exactly human. But it was still a life, and it had been a life that he had taken out, willingly or not.

A part of him felt a lot like hyperventilating at that very instant, but years of training and experience had managed to keep that urge down, although he could still feel bile threatening to rise up at the back of his throat. Lestrade closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down, taking deep breaths through his mouth as he fought back the urge to gag at the stench of what was most likely burnt Xenokin.

While he was calming himself down Lestrade could hear the scuffle of boots as the Doctor picked himself back up, hands slapping against each other a few times before there was a brief moment of silence, most likely because the Doctor was looking at the fire as well.

“Well,” the Doctor started after said silence had passed. “That ended… surprisingly.”

Lestrade gave himself one more second before letting out a snort, opening his eyes and turning to face the Doctor. “As if. You knew this would happen, didn’t you?” He may not be as smart as the other, but he certainly wasn’t _dumb_. He did remember what the Doctor had said about the nanosuperflouride back in the TARDIS. The impact of the forklift must have had opened the box that the Xenokin was holding, triggering it to burn, and considering the state of the engine…

All that the Doctor did in response was to clear his throat and idly adjust his bowtie. “It wasn’t as if the Xenokin was very appreciative to the chances that I gave it,” he eventually said after a pause, turning around after that and faced Lestrade, reaching down with a hand to help him up. The man eyed said hand for a moment, but soon relented and grabbed the offered hand, allowing the Doctor to pull him back up onto his feet.

Once he was upright again Lestrade took a second to get the dust from the floor from his trousers, although he supposed the best thing to do now was to get into a new set of clothes entirely. Once he got back to his flat, that is. His car still had to be around, it wasn’t likely that anybody from the Met would have come—surely they would have already come here from all the commotion, not to mention the currently burning pillar of flames. 

Speaking of which…

“We should get out of here before the fire catches attention,” Lestrade started, turning to the Doctor. “I need to bring my car out of here. And you need to take your TARDIS elsewhere if people from the Yard are going to come swarming here.” He paused after that, glancing back at the fire and thinking about the Xenokin being burnt inside there. He doubted that anybody would be able to find anything extraterrestrial now, considering everything, but if Sherlock had still been around—well. No use thinking about that. Again.

The Doctor sucked in a breath and nodded in his perceptual vision. “Yes, yes. We should leave before anybody spots us.” He rubbed his hands, looking at the fire for a few beats before turning his gaze to Lestrade, who still couldn’t help but continue to stare at the fire. 

There was a moment of silence before the Doctor spoke again. “You’re feeling guilty.” It was a statement, and not a question.

Lestrade closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his cheek. “Of course I am,” he replied, voice just audible enough over the sound of crackling flames. “How can’t I _not_ be guilty? I just took a life.” Even if there hadn’t been a choice in the matter; taking lives was never in his job description, even if sometimes he did have to. There had only ever been one other time in his life where the man had to shoot somebody down, and he had felt the weight of that action pulling him down for months afterward. Criminal or not, taking lives was never as heroic as people made it out to be. It was bloody. It was awful. It was painful, regardless of which side you were on—victim or perpetrator.

“Even though it was out for _your_ life?” the Doctor questioned, and in those words Lestrade could hear another question being asked, although he couldn’t figure out what it exactly was. And really, he was in no mood to try and play mind games with anybody, let alone an alien.

He lowered his hand. “Yeah,” he answered, his voice now rough and dry. “It’s still somebody.”

“Who you killed,” the Doctor went pointedly, and it was hard to not hear the double meaning hidden in those words again. In another time and place he would have questioned, perhaps—but it had been a long, long day, and frankly Lestrade couldn’t bring himself to care too much about it. Let the Doctor have his own opinions, for Lestrade certainly had his.

The fire continued to burn, although Lestrade could now see that it was slowly starting to shrink—not too quickly, but there was a notable difference in size compared to when it first started. It was still going to take a while before the fire would die out entirely though. The man looked at it for a couple more seconds before he glanced towards the Doctor again, his face blank from any emotions as he returned the words with his own. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” There was absolutely no reason why he should—he became a cop to do good, after all, and not take lives. If he had wanted to do that, he wouldn’t have even considered working in the Yard in the first place. Killing people might be a necessity sometimes, but it was never a good day when that happened.

The words seemingly made the Doctor pause for a moment, blinking as he studied Lestrade as something in a way that suggested that he had said something very different or very new—not that the man was certain if he should feel good about that. He had never considered himself as anybody particularly special, just a man who wanted to do some good in his life and in his job, and to do it well. Not that it actually mattered anymore, but he was still alive, which was something he could start working with once all of this was over. (Then again, considering everything… the next question now was _would anything ever beat this_ —and Lestrade knew that the answer to that was _no_.)

Finally, after a long pause, the Doctor spoke up once more. “…no,” he started, the beginnings of a smile quirking on his lips as he glanced away, turning to face one of the other doors of the building. “No, you didn’t. And you never would.”

Lestrade remained silent after that, not quite sure what he should say or do there and then. As it was, all he did was to watch the Doctor head towards the door he had looked at, sonic screwdriver in hand as he pointed it towards said door and started the sonicking. It only took a few moments after that for the door to unlock itself, swinging open to reveal the outside world once more.

The man blinked when he saw that happen. “Wasn’t this place supposed to be deadlocked?” he remarked, even as he started to move towards the exit, following in the Doctor’s footsteps.

“The deadlock was managed by the Xenokin’s ship, which is managed by its owner’s DNA,” the Doctor explained. “Once it died the ship deactivated itself, which in turn deactivated the deadlock.” He stopped at the threshold between the building and outside, holding the door open for Lestrade to step through as he glanced at the man. “Good thing too, because otherwise we’d have to wait for the fire to die out entirely, and even with the sprinklers it would take a while.” _And who knew what could happen by then_ were the unspoken words, but Lestrade could figure that bit out easily enough.

Still, the explanation seemed to make enough sense (although Lestrade couldn’t quite understand a good part of it), so he nodded and stepped back outside, quietly relishing the feel of the wind cooling down his heated skin. The Doctor stepped out after him, and the door slammed shut behind them once he moved, walking past Lestrade and towards where the TARDIS had been parked.

Lestrade watched the Doctor for several moments before speaking up. “So, is that it?”

The Doctor stopped in his tracks at the question, spinning around to face Lestrade with a quizzical look on his face, his arms slightly stretched out to the side with his palms turned upwards. “Is what it?” he asked back, blinking.

“Well—” the man gestured between them, eyebrows furrowing, “—this. Whatever this is, I mean. The Xenokin’s dead, so I guess you’re leaving.” This of course, did make perfect sense in context—but when he thought about it all; how both utterly ridiculous and equally amazing these last few hours had been… well. It was just… hard to imagine that he could simple just return back to his life like that. Not after having been to _space_ , not after having just faced an alien and lived to tell the tale. Not after when his life had finally managed to become so much more compared to the last few weeks, especially after Sherlock’s death. He wasn’t sure if he could ever just… move on so simply after all of this.

There was no immediate response from the Doctor, instead opting to keep silent and stare at Lestrade for a few moments. The man kept his gaze fixed on the Doctor back in turn, trying not to flinch as the winds started to blow across them again while the cold bit at his fingertips.

Eventually it was the Doctor who acted first, breaking the silence between them with a small cough as he glanced away and proceeded to idly adjust his bowtie once more. “Yes, well. I do have the move the TARDIS away after all, and it’s not like a big, blue box would be invisible to anybody.” He paused for a moment, lowering his hand. “Well—” he started again, but then stopped himself before he could go any further. “—never mind.” He clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms, granting Lestrade a small little smile. “As you said, I should be off. No reason for me to dawdle around here. Planets to see and all that.”

Lestrade made himself nod so that he could use those few seconds to hold his tongue and not say anything that he could quite possibly regret. “…right. Well, don’t let me hold you up then.”

The smile on the Doctor’s face only grew. “I’ll see you again, Gregory Lestrade,” he said, giving a little wave before spinning around on his heel and started to make his way back to the TARDIS. Lestrade remained where he was, taking a few minutes to watch the figure of the Doctor vanish into the distance before he closed his eyes and turned away as well, walking back to where he had parked his car.

So that was it. The world was saved, and the Doctor had already gone on his way to somewhere else in the universe. Which was good, of course, it was all fine and good—but somehow it just made him feel so empty, having to turn his back from the Doctor. He had his glimpse of what was outside of this planet, what the universe itself could hold for him, and here he was still on Earth, stuck without ever seeing those sights again. And when he thought about that…

The man sucked in a breath and turned back around, wanting to say something—anything, really—but he could already hear that _whoop whoop whoop_ sound of the TARDIS taking off from the distance. The winds picked up around him, blowing all the more harder as Lestrade felt the weight of his own disappointment pressing down on him, crushing him as the echoes of the TARDIS faded into silence and the man knew that he had lost his chance. 

He looked into the distance for a few more moments before he shook his head and sighed, turning back towards his car and continued making his way back to it. Somehow, he was just going to have to try and move on, no matter how hard it might be. But he would do it. He had to do it. There wasn’t much choice in the matter, really. It was this… or continuing to let himself rot away. And as much as he might have felt like doing it last time, he knew now that it wasn’t going to solve anything. One way or another, he had to keep on living. And live on was what he would do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A climatic wrap up to the whole thing, and at the end Lestrade makes a choice that will change his life.

The drive back home was uneventful, and the fact that it was that uneventful made Lestrade wonder for a moment if everything had simply been just some sort of dream. It was just so hard to take in all that had happened in the last day. Just last night he was in the lowest pits of his mind, and now here he was driving back home with bits of excitement still thrumming in his veins. It was slowly dying down now, of course, but it was hard to forget the thrill and the adrenaline that had grabbed him when he was facing the Xenokin. What he wouldn’t give to be able to feel that again.

The man shook his head at that thought as he parked his car at the side of the road outside his flat, quietly berating himself. Yes, it would be amazing if he could feel that again, but at the same time it wasn’t worth putting himself through all that danger and trouble. Sure, he would be alive, but then… was he really going to put everything else about him at risk just for that one moment of exhilaration?

…then again, there was no use asking himself that question now. The Doctor was gone with his big blue police box, and Lestrade would have to keep on living his life one way or another. If anything, this experience had shown him that there could still be so much more to do. He might have lost his job, but out there, somewhere… there was still something for him, as long as he didn’t give up. Although the old, cynical part of him wanted to say otherwise, if wasn’t as if he could accomplish anything by wallowing in his regrets either. He was going to have to keep on moving forward if he wanted to accomplish anything from here.

With that decision in mind, Lestrade got out of his car and made sure it was locked before entering the apartment and starting to climb up the stairs where his flat was, thinking for a bit how he ever managed to get all the way back to his place last night with the Doctor, considering he had drunk a fair bit. The adrenaline would have taken out a fair bit of the alcohol, of course, but still…

 _One of the mysteries of the universe, I suppose,_ Lestrade thought to himself as he unlocked the door and stepped back into his flat—only to stop and stare at the sight before him.

The Doctor turned around from his seat on the couch, smiling brightly once he saw who it was. “Gregory! It’s so nice to see you again. Hope you don’t mind me borrowing your flat for a little longer, I need to talk to these chums.”

Lestrade took a moment to glance from the Doctor, past the TARDIS parked at the corner of his living room as if it was the most natural thing in the world and to the ‘chums’ in question, staring at said chums for a few moments before looking back to the Doctor. “But they’re…” he trailed off just as quickly as he started to speak gesturing helplessly at the small group of aliens gathered at the other side of his living room.

“Xenokin, yes,” the Doctor easily returned as he turned back to face them. “I’ll explain later, so sit down for now. Or if you could, make us some tea. It usually helps to facilitate discussions better.”

The man blinked at that before shifting into a frown soon after. “Discussion?” he echoed, “About what?”

The Doctor let out a huff of amusement in return, leaning forward to rest his head upon his laced hands. “The fate of planet Earth, of course,” he answered.

All Lestrade could do was to freeze right at his spot, staring incredulously at the Doctor as his mind tried to process the words _fate of planet Earth_. The fate of the planet itself was now hinging on whatever was going to happen right in his flat, discussed by two alien species. _His_ planet. Nobody could blame him for this all being a little hard to take in at the moment.

Seemingly having taken his silence as consent, the Doctor made a satisfied hum and spoke up to the Xenokin. “Now, where were we? Ah yes—” he narrowed his eyes sharply “—what was the reason for you leaving one of your own species stranded? I picked up its distress call, and so did you. So why didn’t you respond?”

One of the Xenokin at the side narrowed its eyes and hissed. _“That isss none of your busssinesss, Doctor. Thisss is not your planet.”_

“Well, yes, that may be true,” the Doctor returned, completely unfazed by the response. “But I quite like this place. As I’ve told the Atraxi once before, I’ve put a lot of work into this place.”

Lestrade noticed that some of the Xenokin seem to shift about rather uncertainly at the mention of the Atraxi, tentacles following their action. The larger one at the front—the leader, he presumed—moved forward, forked tongue flicking out as it spoke. _“Our people are ssseparate ever since the demissse of Entoesss, and in recent timesss we have been dying out. We decided that we needed a new planet to call our home.”_

The Doctor quickly waved off the explanation. “Yes, yes, I know that part,” he went, glancing over to the Xenokin leader. “But Earth is pretty much at the other end of the universe from where you are—no Xenokin has ever been in this part of space. So why now, and with so many of you in one go? That’s not coincidence, that’s deliberate planning. Somebody told you to come here.”

The Xenokin all seemed to flinch at that, a collective of hisses escaping from them as their tentacles twitched, drawing back just a little. If anything, that just seemed to confirm to Lestrade that what the Doctor said was indeed true. So somebody (or something) had told the Xenokin to come to this planet—but who would have told them something like that? Unsurprisingly, Lestrade was drawing blanks; it wasn’t as if he knew who could do such a thing, considering he just discovered the existence of life beyond Earth just short of a day ago.

Lestrade glanced down at the Doctor for a few moments, debating what to say, but before he could decide the Xenokin were speaking up again, although this time their voices were notably quieter.

 _“We were… informed of thisss planet,”_ the Xenokin leader admitted, the tip of its tongue flicking momentarily from its mouth. _“We were told that Earth would be a sssuitable sssucessssor to Entoesss, and we needed to be certain of it.”_

“So you sent down a scout and made it think it was stranded?” the Doctor shot back incredulously. “That’s not very nice of you, is it? The poor thing had already long gone mad from the hunger by the time I got to it. You all know that would happen, so why didn’t you pick it up before it did?” 

Rather than answering the question the Xenokin leader hissed once again, this one far more menacing—a warning sign to Lestrade’s ears. _“That isss not your concern, Doctor. You are not one of usss.”_

“No, I’m not, and thank goodness for that,” the Doctor returned, standing up from his seat and adjusting his tweed jacket. Once he was done with that, though, he was fixing the Xenokin leader with a look that even made Lestrade pause for a moment, if only because of how menacing it was. Anger flashed on the Doctor’s face, like fire that burned at the heart of the sun, and the rage that showed was unlike anything that the man had ever seen. It was an anger that promised nothing less than utter annihilation; and for a split second Lestrade would say it was like looking at the rage of an eternal god.

When the Doctor spoke his voice was quiet and deadly calm, like the moment before the breaking of a giant storm. “Five people have already died because of your actions,” he started, turning his gaze to the other Xenokin, and they all flinched once more at the look that the Doctor gave them. “Take your spaceships away from Earth and go far, far away, so far away that I’ll never see you again because if I do, and I see that you’re doing this again—” he stopped, raising a finger up in warning. “—I’m not going to be this kind.”

There was a pause from the Xenokin after those words as they all regarded the Doctor for a moment, and Lestrade wondered how the Doctor didn’t seem to be unnerved at all about the hundreds of red eyes there were now looking at his direction. Even he was starting to feel nervous about it, and none of the eyes were directed towards him.

Eventually, however, the silence was broken by the Xenokin themselves, as a low, spluttering rattle of choked-off hisses started to come out from the Xenokin—and if just hearing one of them laugh was bad enough, hearing a group of them laugh was another thing altogether. Lestrade didn’t know how he could describe the sound that he heard from them—it was something that could have never come from Earth, a rattling of choked-off hisses and screeches that was going to remain in his mind for a _very_ long time.

The sounds did die down after a while though, and the Xenokin leader inched forward, one tentacle moving over to where the Doctor was as it spoke. _“You call this kindnessss?”_ it asked, the question coming out in a clear, mocking drawl. _“All you do isss ssspeak big words and tell ussss to go away from thisss planet. Why ssshould we lissssten to you?”_

All the Doctor did in response was to look back at the Xenokin leader, the ice cold rage on his features still unchanged from earlier. “Because there are people and things on this planet very, very dear to me, and I’ve lost too much to let anybody else take away any more than they already have.” He paused and sent them another glare, watching coldly as some of them recoiled minutely at his expression. “I’ll say it again: take your spaceships and go away—far away where I’ll never ever see you and your kind ever again. The next time if I see any of you, well.” A dry smile crossed his face. “Don’t blame me for being angry.”

The Xenokin’s answer to those words were to simply start their chorus of rattling laughter once more, slowly starting to spread out from their formation to begin surrounding both Lestrade and the Doctor in the man’s own living room. Lestrade glanced around in worry as he watched the Xenokin quickly forming a circle around them, looking back to the Doctor with uncertainly on his features. “Doctor—”

“Trust me, Gregory,” the Doctor interrupted before Lestrade could say anything else, extending one arm to stop the man from doing anything as the other reached into his jacket, taking out his sonic screwdriver. “Can you do that?”

Unlike the previous times, this time Lestrade didn’t even need a moment before he answered. “Of course.” As mad and as daft as he is at times, Lestrade knew now, without a doubt, that the Doctor was somebody he could trust with his life. Maybe not with everything else yet, but for matters of life and death—those, he could put his stock into the Doctor to do what was right.

Something in his answer must have gotten the Doctor’s attention, because the Time Lord was turning his head back to Lestrade and gave the man a brief smile before speaking. “On the count of three, shield your eyes, and under no circumstances can you open them.”

Lestrade nodded to show his acknowledgement, hands already flying to his face as he hovered them over his eyes, ready to block them out at a moment’s notice.

The Doctor smiled once more before turning back to face the Xenokin, raising his sonic screwdriver up as he spoke again. “Alright then, in one…”

 _“There’sss no need to blame you if you’re dead, Doctor,”_ the Xenokin leader hissed out, tentacles starting to rise up.

“Two…”

Lestrade felt his entire body tensing up now, waiting for the last count—

“Three!”

The man immediately slapped his palms over his eyes, blocking them just before he heard the sound of the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver, and he felt the heat in the room abruptly rising up. But those weren’t the worst things; what got him far more were the sudden sounds of the Xenokin _screaming_. Their screeches rang in his ears, pain and horror mixed together, and if his hands weren’t shielding his eyes he would have used them to cover his ears instead. Sure, he heard and seen his fair share of things before, but this sound—it was nothing but pure agony. Lestrade opened his mouth again, wanting to ask just what was the Doctor trying to do, but the voice of the Xenokin leader cut him off once more, speaking before he could.

 _“Thisss,”_ it started, voice coming out in a high pitched while that rose over the screams of the other Xenokin. _“Ssstop thissss!”_

Lestrade was wholly expecting for the Doctor to say something back in return—which was why it surprised him when he heard nothing at all. No sound, so response, nothing at all; he could still sense the Doctor standing beside him, but aside from that the other was silent, the only indication that he was there was the sound of his sonic screwdriver that continued to ring even with the continuing screams of the Xenokin. After a few more moments, the man finally mustered up the courage to ask the question. “Doctor, what are you doing?”

There was a beat of silence from beside him, but eventually the Doctor did answer the question. “The Xenokin are nocturnal for a reason,” he started, voice eerily calm among the screams. “The planet they used to be from is far away from their sun because prolonged exposure to UV rays can and will kill them. The one we met earlier already had time to adjust, but they haven’t. I’ve adjusted your lights to produce UV rays—nothing that can harm you, besides giving you a tan in the next thirty or so minutes—so if they get caught in them long enough—”

“—they die,” Lestrade finished the sentence for him, feeling a lump settling itself uncomfortably at the back of his throat. Murder. The Doctor was going to kill the Xenokin right here and now if they didn’t listen. Certainly, he could easily justify why the Doctor was doing it, but still…

A pained hiss from the Xenokin leader cut through his thoughts, and under the sound of the screams Lestrade could faintly hear a collection of thumping noises which could best guess came from the other Xenokin that was writhing from the pain. The sound certainly didn’t do much to lessen the growing feeling of unease that the man had right now.

 _“Doctor,”_ the Xenokin leader started once more, now sounding more much desperate. _“Ssstop it!”_

“I already gave you your chance,” the Doctor returned, voice going cold once more. “You are the one who didn’t appreciate it.” 

The Xenokin’s screams came back in full force after that, somehow rising up even higher than before and ringing shrilly in Lestrade’s eardrums. It was getting worse and worse, so much until Lestrade couldn’t handle it anymore and he moved his hands, shifting them so that he was covering his ears and accidentally opened his eyes while he did that. Opening his eyes, and then pausing at what he saw even past the initial glare of light into his eyes.

Around the living room were the Xenokin trashing on the floor and writhing about, their screams still piercing the air as steam rose up from patches across their body—patches which were a sickly, disgusting blue compared to the dark reddish brown of their skin. After already having heard the Doctor’s explanation, Lestrade didn’t need to be a genius to guess what exactly was going on with the Xenokin now. The UV rays were literally burning them up, and at the rate they were going it didn’t seem that they had much time left.

Lestrade glanced over to the Doctor, whose face had kept in an emotionless mask as he continued to hold up his sonic screwdriver, the sound of it long hidden by the Xenokin’s cries of agony. There were few things that could scare Lestrade by this time, but right now, with the Xenokin dying around them and the utter lack of emotion on the Doctor’ face—Lestrade couldn’t help but be frightened of that. Frightened by the Doctor’s anger, and how he channelled it out… how he could just kill others so easily in his rage. 

Perhaps that was why he always had companions. They were the ones who made sure the Doctor kept his morality—if this was how the Doctor was after just some time alone, he shuddered to think how he could be after an ever longer period of time. With that thought it was clear now what Lestrade needed to do, what he had to do. The man moved, reaching over to the Doctor and grabbed the hand that was holding up the sonic screwdriver and pulled it back down. 

The Doctor instantly reacted at that, his head snapping so quickly over to Lestrade that he could have almost gotten whiplash from the speed of it. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his gaze harsh, his voice tight. Right now the Doctor was clearly not somebody to be trifled with, but still Lestrade had to do it.

“Stopping you from killing them,” Lestrade answered, attempting to wrestle the sonic screwdriver away from the Doctor’s grip but to no avail; the Doctor’s hold was far too solid.

The answer seemed to stun the Doctor for a moment, and he stared at Lestrade for a beat before abruptly frowning. “But they plan to conquer your planet, Lestrade,” he went, and then stressed the last part again for emphasis. “ _Your_ planet.” 

“I know they are,” the man returned, who then paused and opted to wrap his hand over the Doctor’s own instead as he looked at the other straight in the eye before continuing. “And as you said, it’s _my_ planet. Earth, not your planet. And that means you can’t just go and kill for us, because their deaths wouldn’t be on you, it would be on us.”

Somehow he seemed to have managed to stun the Doctor twice in a row, because the other was staring at Lestrade with an expression that was totally unrecognizable, because there were so many emotions piled together he couldn’t tell where one started and ended. But still, he held the Doctor’s gaze, refusing to back down because he needed to make his point—the point that the Doctor couldn’t go about killing for others, because in the end it wasn’t going to help anybody at all.

A long moment passed between the two of them as the Doctor stared, his gaze fixed on Lestrade’s own for what seemed to be a long while before he finally moved. He closed his eyes dipping his head as he lowered his sonic screwdriver, loosening his grip on it just enough for Lestrade to grab a hold of it. “It’s the middle button,” he muttered as the man took control of the device.

“Thank you,” Lestrade replied as he took the sonic screwdriver and directed it to the lights, pressing the button pointed out to him. Instantly the lights went out, and the dim glow of the evening light rushed back in as silence fell across the room when the UV rays were cut off. The man blinked as his eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden lack of light, focusing onto the Xenokin who were all still sprawled across the living room. He moved without thinking, making his way to some of them and taking a moment to check them out—he wasn’t an expert in alien biology, but from what he could tell they were still breathing. Of course, they were badly burned by the rays, but otherwise still wholly alive.

“They’ll recover,” the Doctor spoke up after a few minutes, while Lestrade was giving the Xenokin leader a once over. The man paused in his task to look over at the other with an inquisitive look, and the Doctor (who wasn’t looking at Lestrade) rubbed his face, stifling a sigh. “The Xenokin have regenerative abilities. It’ll take them a while, but eventually they’ll recover from those burns.”

Lestrade was silent for a moment as he regarded the Doctor, but eventually decided to take the words for what they were and nodded. “Thank you,” he went once more, straightening himself back up and started to walk back to where the Doctor was standing. 

The Doctor let out a proper sigh this time as Lestrade neared him. “Humans,” he started, finally turning his gaze over to Lestrade and gave him a look of exasperation. “You’re so horribly forgiving at times.”

“We can’t just go killing everyone who’s in the wrong, Doctor,” the man returned with a tired smile. Of course, he certainly couldn’t say what he did was right or wrong, but at the same time the Doctor wasn’t in that position either. They were just two beings out of the countless that lived in this universe, and neither of them had that right to decide if somebody had the right to live or die. After all, the Xenokin were just trying to find a way to survive—granted, they weren’t doing it very correctly, but still. They were only doing it to ensure that their own species would survive. Nobody could really blame them for that.

In response the Doctor shook his head, a small smile on his own face. “I’m not going to argue with a cop about what’s right and wrong,” he returned light-heartedly, the amusement audible enough in his voice.

Lestrade smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

The Doctor opened his mouth to respond at that point, but his expression suddenly turned into surprise, and Lestrade didn’t need to hear the follow up of ‘look out!’ to know what was going on. He instantly leapt forward, moving before the tentacle behind could get a proper hold of him. The man took a moment to regain his footing before he twisted around and raised the sonic screwdriver that was still in his hand, glaring sharply at the Xenokin leader who was pushing itself back up, bits of skin slowly knitting itself back together.

Before anybody else could say anything it was Lestrade who spoke up first, and this time it was his voice than had gone ice cold. “Give it up, Xenokin. You don’t have a chance here.”

The Xenokin leader raised its head in defiance, eyes narrowing as it hissed, spite laced in its every word. _“Earth will be oursss, human, and you will not be able to ssstop usss!”_ And it lunged forwards once it said that, mouth wide open to reveal its countless razor sharp teeth surrounding the many rims that made it up.

This time there was no mercy—Lestrade activated the sonic screwdriver once more, making it turn the lights back on and all the Xenokin screamed once more as the UV rays hit them. But unlike before Lestrade was the one in charge here, and this time he wasn’t going to be as forgiving as he had been earlier; he had given them their chance, and they had ruined it with that. He kept his thumb on the middle button, watching as the lights started to get brighter and brighter, bright enough that Lestrade had to wince and turn his head away while the screams of the Xenokin became louder.

He could feel the Doctor’s hands on his arm, attempting to wrench his hand away from the sonic screwdriver this time around. “Lestrade,” he heard the other start to speak right next to him. “Lestrade, you need to leave this room before—”

The Doctor was interrupted halfway when a series of crackling started to sound from where the lights were, each crackle getting increasingly louder and flashier as well with every passing second until the lights burnt out just as the collective sound of what was best described as a wet paper bag exploding rang around them. In the moment between that and the next bits of Xenokin started to fly everywhere, splattering all over the walls and the carpeted floor of Lestrade’s living room—as well as both the man and the Doctor. It was hard to not know what it was when one could suddenly feel wet blobs of… stuff slapping onto you without warning. And that wasn’t even including the _smell._

Lestrade wrinkled his nose the moment the stench started to hit, quickly forcing down the sudden urge to vomit. “Ungh,” he went as he slowly opened his eyes, not quite sure what else he could say at the moment. 

The Doctor grimaced visibly as he cautiously wiped off bits of Xenokin away from his face. “Not quite the ending I was expecting,”

“They used up their chance,” the man returned simply as he tossed the sonic screwdriver back to the Doctor and glanced around his living room, sighing at the state of it. Looks like he was going to have to do a fair bit of tidying up in here.

* * *

It was well past midnight and into the wee hours of the new day by the time Lestrade had managed to finish cleaning up, scraping off the last bits of Xenokin off his living room and making sure that the air was actually breathable again, although he knew it would be a long time before he could ever look at this room in the way that he used to. While managing to save the Earth was a very good thing and all, Lestrade couldn’t help but wonder if he should have done it in a way that hadn’t required the Xenokin to burst all over his flat. It had been especially hellish to wash the carpet.

Now that his flat was inhabitable again, Lestrade sat on the couch with a cup of tea he had made for himself so that he could congratulate himself on a job well done. The planet was saved, the Xenokin were gone and the Doctor had already gone on his merry way to somewhere else in the universe or time. One couldn’t be ever certain when a time machine was involved, after all.

As Lestrade waited for his tea to cool down he silently recalled the Doctor’s departure—it was soon after the Xenokin had all exploded and the man himself had went to the bathroom to clean up and get out whatever cleaning equipment he possessed to clean up his flat. When he came out of there and trudged back to the lounge with said cleaning items, the Doctor had already went back into his TARDIS and started it up; all Lestrade saw was the image of the TARDIS fading from his vision as that strange _whoop whoop whoop_ sound trailed off into an echo that still rang inside his mind even until now, hours later. He wondered if he could ever forget that sound, not after everything that had happened.

Even until now it was hard to believe that all of that had just happened in the span of twenty four hours. It had been mad and dangerous and had involved a bloody load of running, but yet those had been one of the best twenty four hours of his life. It was surreal, really, thinking about it all as he sat here in the dark and waited for his tea to cool. Just two days ago he had been on this very couch with alcohol instead of tea, still grieving about Sherlock and his job and how everything had seemed to end for him. Now, though, he was here just thinking how much the Doctor had done for his life in the last day—just one single day, and Lestrade could feel that his entire world had changed. Somehow, things simply seemed brighter now.

But yet, there was that one selfish part of him who wished that he could hear not the echoes but the real sound of the TARDIS again. It was the part of him which wished that he could have asked the Doctor to take him out across the universe and through time itself. Lestrade had never been one to sit down and twiddle his thumbs, and now after having that one taste of adventure, of the thrill of being able to simply do _something_ again… Lestrade wasn’t sure if he could just leave it at that. He wasn’t sure if he could just have that one taste and then return back to this life where there was nothing and nobody left for him. Sherlock was dead, John wouldn’t talk to him and Mycroft wasn’t even around at all, the tosser that he was. His siblings were all a flight away and… he couldn’t imagine himself being able to continue on like this without going mad at some point or another.

The man stared at his tea for a moment before closing his eyes and sighed out loud. He was probably wishing for far too much, he knew. The Doctor had already left, after all, and there was no way he would want to bring along an old man like him. He was too bitter and cynical for the wonders of the universe—as much as the Doctor had shown him some of the amazing things beyond this world, he would always see the other side. There was barely anything that had just one side; there were always two sides of everything, like the heads and tails of a coin.

Still, if he could just hear that sound again… it was echoing louder in his ears now, possibly a trick of his mind, and Lestrade started to sip on his tea, closing his eyes, trying to focus on that sound because it was getting even louder now for some reason—

Lestrade nearly choked on his tea when he realized that the sound was actually _real_ and not a figment of his imagination and he opened his eyes again, staring in both shock and surprise as he watched the TARDIS materialize back in the corner of his lounge.

The man took a moment to carefully set his tea onto the table before getting up from the couch and walking over to the TARDIS, stopping at the doors. He raised a hand and rested it against them, wondering and guessing. Could he really have—would the Doctor really—

He stopped in his thoughts when the doors pulled open and Lestrade came face to face with the Doctor—the Doctor who was smiling quite brightly and looking rather pleased with himself.

“Ah! _There_ you are,” the Doctor started, grabbing Lestrade’s face and leaned in to do that… _thing_ he did when they first met. Lestrade still had no clue what that was. He blinked as the Doctor drew back, still smiling as he rambled on. “I was getting quite tired of popping into the wrong flat. You all should really make them more distinctive, you know. The one place I accidentally intruded on…” he trailed off to a shudder. “They really should put a balloon up or something, honestly. It’s quite private, those things.”

Lestrade wasn't exactly sure what the Doctor was talking about here, because all that he could really do was to keep on staring at the Doctor. The Doctor, who had returned despite him having believed otherwise. There was no way that this could actually be real. He seriously had to be dreaming this.

The Doctor gazed at him with an expression of concern. “Are you alright?” he asked, leaning in closer now so that he could properly study the man's face. “You've been quite quiet. Usually you talk a lot more. Is something the matter?”

“You're back,” Lestrade found himself muttering aloud in shock, still not over the fact that the Doctor was actually _here_.

A blink from the Doctor. “Of course I'm back, why wouldn't I be— _ow!_ ”

Lestrade lowered his hand from the Doctor's cheek, staring at him once more. “It really is you.”

“I thought that'd be obvious enough,” the Doctor replied with a wince, rubbing the spot where he had been pinched. “Must you always pinch me when I come to your house? Is that some sort of greeting I'm not aware of?”

“I just needed to make sure,” Lestrade returned, blinking, slowly feeling his mind starting to get over from the unexpected surprise. He looked at the Doctor for a few more moments before speaking again. “I thought you'd already gone off running in that police box of yours.”

The Doctor scowled at that. “I already told you, it’s not a police box. It’s my TARDIS.”

“Still a police box,” the man shot back, easily ignoring the brief glare that the Doctor sent to him at those words. No matter what the thing actually was—be it a spaceship or a time machine or something else entirely—it was still going to look like a police box to Lestrade.

Crossing his arms, Lestrade took a step back to put some proper distance between himself and the Doctor, glancing at the other and his _police box_ for a few seconds before asking. “So, just what did you have to do that made you go off like that without even telling me? Was another part of the universe in danger or something? Were the other Xenokin still hanging around in space?”

“Wha—oh no no, nothing like that at all.” The Doctor quickly waved those questions off. “All the other ships fled once their command ship self-destructed after the leader died—one of the bad things about bio-managed ships. Anyway!” He turned back inside the TARDIS, rummaging behind the doors for a moment and then turning back to Lestrade, holding out one hand. “Here you go.”

Not quite certain where this was going, Lestrade eyed the Doctor suspiciously for a second before reluctantly stretching out his hand, palm open. The Doctor beamed at that, moving his own hand so that it was right above Lestrade's and dropped something down to the man. “I went off in order to get this,” he explained.

A frown crossed Lestrade's face at that particular explanation, and then he moved his gaze down to his hand so that he could see for himself just what it was that made the Doctor take off like that just to retrieve it. He looked down, blinked, looked at it again just to make sure that he wasn't imagining it and then proceeded to stare at it for the next minute or so.

The Doctor glanced at Lestrade as the pronounced silence stretched on, concern on his features once again. “...is something the matter?” he asked once more.

Lestrade held up the item in his hand. “It’s the cube,” he stated, the tone of his voice sounding very flat.

“Well, yes—” the Doctor started to say, but then a glare from Lestrade quickly cut him off from continuing down that line. “But it’s not exactly the _same_ cube, considering that one got destroyed in the fire. It's a lot smaller than the one we used with the Xenokin, although it is sort of the same device. It can change its size according to the size of what is inside it and—I'm not making this any better, am I.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Not at all.” Although at least it seemed that the Doctor had enough tact to realize that fact.

“Oh. Well.” There was a hint of disappointment in the Doctor's features, but he quickly moved on before the beat of silence that had come between them could get any more awkward. “But you'll find it useful, I think. Had to run a few errands before I could get it, but it should be well worth it.” He gestured to the cube, smiling. “Open it up now, come on.”

Lestrade gave the Doctor yet another look, but eventually did as asked, turning his gaze back to the cube as he used his free hand to pull the latch at the top. It took a few tugs before the latch did pop open, and once it did Lestrade gazed into the cube, seeing just what this thing actually was. And that thing was—

“...a pill.” A very big pill, to be precise, far too big for anybody to swallow it down. It looked more like one of those jawbreaker things he heard about over in America, complete with bright green cover.

“Not just any old pill,” the Doctor added on, picking up the pill from Lestrade's hand and holding it up properly for the man to see. “It's a bio genetically-engineered pill used to clean things up quite thoroughly. Big hit during the Second Great and Bountiful Human empire, especially after the Ood sphere regained their independence. Now!” He bounced over to the kitchen before Lestrade could cut in with any words of his own (which the man had a lot of because—Second Great and Bountiful Human empire? Seriously?), spinning around as he picked up a cup that was drying near the sink. “I'm sure you're wondering how to actually use this, so I'll show you. It's very simple actually. First just put the pill in the cup, then filled the cup with water and soap and—”

He paused at that, blinking for a moment and then two before he placed the cup and pill back down onto the side of the sink before he went back out of the kitchen so that he could actually study the lounge properly. Lestrade followed behind, a wry look on his face as he watched the Doctor glance around their now very nice and clean surroundings for about a minute before looking back at the man. “You cleaned it.” It was a statement, not a question.

Lestrade had to try and not roll his eyes once more at that. “Couldn't just leave the mess lying around now, could I?” he returned, voice going dry again. “Besides, I didn't know that you were coming back.”

He hadn't really meant it, of course—he couldn't blame the Doctor for taking off when he did, but it was hard to ignore the flash of emotion that crossed the Doctor's face right there and then. It was an emotion that spoke of pain, and sadness, and guilt and regret. The weight of so many years of living suddenly appearing at once, so big and enormous that Lestrade found it hard to wrap his head around it all. He knew that there was no way that he would ever be able to really understand something as vast as that—and he wondered how the Doctor could ever manage to handle all of that without becoming... well. Maybe that was why he was the way he was now, perhaps. Lestrade certainly couldn't imagine himself being able to stay proper when there was something like that on his shoulders.

“—yes, well.” The Doctor's voice drew him back out again, and Lestrade blinked, focusing back on the other as the man watched him lean over to the couch and lick briefly across the surface of the fake leather padding. “Hm,” he started, humming thoughtfully as he drew back, smacking his lips. “Doesn't seem to be that long since I left—can still taste that Xenokin goo.” He paused and grimaced at that. “Not really the most pleasant taste either. Augh.” He stuck his tongue back out and mimed a retch, going right back to the kitchen as he did so.

Making a grimace of his own, Lestrade followed the Doctor back into the kitchen, helping the other get a cup of water for the other to wash out the taste. Once the Doctor did have the up Lestrade watched as the Doctor washed his mouth rather through, rinsing it thrice and going through two big cups of water in the process.

“Annnd there we go,” the Doctor finished with a relieved sigh once he was done, putting the used cups away for Lestrade. “Usually I'm okay with tasting most things, but the Xenokin... must be all the meat that they eat,” he paused to make a face, “It frankly tastes quite awful.”

 _I think the question here is that why are you even tasting anything in the first place,_ Lestrade thought privately to himself, but decided not to say it aloud. He was fairly certain that the Doctor was clear enough on the dangers, being as old as he was... but then again, sometimes it was hard to believe that the Doctor would be able to know the first thing about putting strange things in your mouth.

“Anyway!” The Doctor started once more as he looked around the lounge, one finger idly rubbing at the spot on the couch where he had licked. “I didn't seem to be gone for that long. How long did I disappear for?”

Lestrade made a mildly unimpressed look. “A few hours,” he answered, crossing his arms. “Long enough for me to clean up the worst of the mess.” He was pretty certain that he was probably going to find more Xenokin goo in places he hadn't thought of yet, but he would cross the bridge when he got to that. At the very least, the place did look presentable once again.

The Doctor smiled at the answer. “Not that all long, then,” he went, looking quite pleased about it all. “A few hours is certainly better than six months or two years or even twelve. Nobody likes to wait for twelve years for something, after all.” He clapped his hands together, glancing at the place one more time before he finally settled his gaze on Lestrade. “Well, then, shall we be off?”

The question understandably caused Lestrade to pause, confused, and he stared at the Doctor with said confusion on his face. “Pardon?” He couldn't mean—he didn't— “Off to where?”

A playful smile crossed the Doctor's face at that, somehow both knowing and intriguing at the same time. “Wherever you want. _When_ ever you want. All of space and time at the doorstep with just the pull of a lever.” His eyes glinted as he said that, holding promise as well as excitement, adventures and thrills and the chance to do some good out there. A chance to go to places beyond his imagining, things that the whole universe had to show—things just as magnificent as the sight of space itself. Lestrade just had a taste of it, but he already knew he was most certainly and definitely hooked.

Still, he had to be rational about this, even if every fibre of him wanted to do nothing more than say 'yes' and jump right in. Lestrade stuffed his hands into his pockets in an attempt to ground himself back to reality, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. “You make it sound so easy.”

The Doctor blinked at that, raising an eyebrow as he replied. “Like I told you before, why can’t it be easy? Not everything in the universe is as complicated as you think, Gregory.”

Lestrade let out a snort. “Maybe so, but it’s always going to be dangerous.” He hadn’t even been with the other for a full twenty-four hours and already Lestrade could understand that. Going around with the Doctor was like running head on into a minefield by itself—an utterly insane thing to do, but after three weeks of having nothing else in his life Lestrade wasn’t going to be particularly picky about things in general. Sure, there was a chance that he would die if he decided to go with the Doctor, but he supposed it would be a good sort of death. Not the kind that had him rotting away pissed and useless in some back alley, which was a death he knew he would eventually go to if the Doctor hadn’t appeared in his life.

Between something like that and _this_ , it was pretty clear what the answer was. Even then, Lestrade didn’t want to make this easy—he couldn’t, because his rational side still needed convincing and Lestrade needed for his rational side to agree before he could do this without any regret whatsoever.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow in response to those words. “Well, I won’t stop you from staying here and doing absolutely nothing if that’s what you really want,” he started, “but you know there’s a whole universe out there just waiting to be seen by you. I know you’ll love it.” He cast a meaningful glance to Lestrade then as he finished off his words. “There’s nothing for you to do here now, so what’s really keeping you here?” A smile. “If it helps, think of it as a break in-between jobs. You can go across all of time and space and still plop back here before anybody notices that you’re gone. The TARDIS is a time machine as well, after all.”

And when the Doctor put it all out like that, just how could he resist, especially when he knew that the Doctor was telling the truth? He could go anywhere and everywhere and still be back before the sunrise came. Nobody would even know that he was gone—and really, nobody would care either. But Lestrade still didn’t want to risk anything that could possibly invite the bloody media to his doorstep, not when Sherlock’s death was still fresh enough for them to act on anything involved.

“Well?” The Doctor was rocking on his heels now, gazing at Lestrade with a hopeful expression that looked almost desperate to him. Again, he was reminded of Sherlock—the Sherlock who had existed before the arrival of John Watson, the Sherlock who had nobody else then besides Lestrade himself. It was hard to not see the loneliness that the Doctor was trying to hide, not after all what he had gone through with the other and having learned that small bit about his past. He craved companionship, and Lestrade knew that the Doctor needed somebody to be his conscience because he wouldn’t be who he was otherwise.

And all of that was more than enough for Lestrade to give in, at least for now. At least until the Doctor managed to find somebody better to be his companion, because Lestrade knew he couldn’t be there forever.

Lestrade closed his eyes and let out a small sigh; now he was well and thoroughly roped into this, and he had nobody to blame for but himself. “…fine,” he went after a few seconds. “But only for a couple of trips. You’ll have to bring me back here the moment I say I want to return.”

The Doctor nodded eagerly. “Of course, of course. It won’t be forever, after all.” He smiled again, although it wasn’t hard to notice the slight strain in it. “Once you’re tired of the adventures we can come back here and your tea will be on the table still nice and warm.”

“…right.” Lestrade took a moment to rub his cheek, wondering if this was the right decision to make. He knew very well that travelling with the Doctor wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but he couldn’t just leave the other alone. The Doctor might be twelve hundred years old, but that didn’t mean he could handle himself—if anything, all Lestrade could see was that the Doctor _wasn’t_ able to handle himself. If he hadn’t stopped the Doctor back then… last thing he wanted was something else to weigh on his conscience. Sherlock’s death was more than enough.

Beaming still, the Doctor spun back around to face the TARDIS, hands clapping together. “Right then! Shall we be off? We can take a little spin across the solar system first before we go anywhere else. You’ll like looking at Earth from above, it’s a fantastic sight.”

He started to walk back into the TARDIS after saying that, but Lestrade wasn’t moving, only frowning for a few moments before speaking up. “Wait.”

The Doctor turned back to look at him. “What is it?” he asked, somehow confused as to why Lestrade would stop him like this. “Is there something else you need to add? We can do that when we’re in the TARDIS.”

Lestrade managed to bite down the sigh that wanted to escape from him. “Nothing like that, Doctor. Just give me a few minutes to pack some things.”

There was a blink from the Doctor. “Pack?” he echoed, seemingly surprised. “Why would you need to pack? The TARDIS has everything you need inside.”

“Even so, there’s still some personal stuff I want to bring along with me.” Although now that the Doctor had said that, Lestrade supposed he could cut short on packing his clothes—and it would make his luggage a lot smaller as well. “It won’t be long, I’ll just put my things together and then we can be off.”

A moment passed as the Doctor looked at Lestrade, as if trying to see if what the man said was indeed true or not. He frowned for a bit, debating, but eventually he nodded and waved the man off. “Alright, take as long as you need. We’ve got all the time in the world, after all.”

“It’ll be quick,” Lestrade promised again, thanking the Doctor with an incline of his head before the man turned and made his way over to his bedroom. It hadn’t been made since the morning when he woke up, so Lestrade took a moment to at least fold the blanket and put it on the pillow to put on some semblance of tidiness. After that he dug through his drawers for a suitable bag to use, eventually managing to find a duffel bag he had used for a camping trip with his family about a decade ago. The fact that it was still actually useable was surprising, and Lestrade supposed he could somehow get a new bag elsewhere in the universe during his travels should he ever require one.

Brushing off about a decade’s worth of accumulated dust on it, he then quickly packed up on whatever necessities he would need during his trip—a reusable shaving kit (he supposed Time Lords didn’t need to shave, as human as the Doctor did look), several of his preferred outfits (couldn’t depend on the TARDIS for everything, after all), his wallet as well as his phone (time travel or not, he wasn’t going to leave either of them behind), his phone charger (just in case the TARDIS didn’t have anything useable for his phone), and after spending a few seconds to debate about it, a few packs of nicotine patches. Just in case he was going to need them.

Once all of those were in Lestrade gave everyone one more check, making sure that they were all there before nodding to himself in confirmation and zipped his duffel. Slinging it around his shoulder, Lestrade made his way back into the lounge where the TARDIS and the Doctor was waiting for him—or well, the TARDIS was still there, but the Doctor had somehow disappeared again to only god knows where.

Lestrade frowned as he glanced around—at least it was clear that the Doctor hadn’t left yet since the TARDIS was still here, but then came the question of where he went off to. It had to be somewhere nearby, at least, because if it was somewhere far the Doctor would have already taken the TARDIS along with him.

Stepping closer to where the TARDIS stood, Lestrade started to shift the duffel into his hand, mouth opening into a call. “Docto—”

“Right here!” The Doctor popped his head out of the kitchen, a big smile on his face as he looked at Lestrade unapologetically. “Sorry, something got my attention while I was waiting for you. I wanted to pop into your room and see if you were done, but I had to do something first.”

Somehow Lestrade had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next, but he really couldn’t help it. “What did you need to do?” he asked.

The Doctor only grinned and withdrew his head, coming out entirely from the kitchen with something with something very familiar in his hands. “This!” he announced, holding the item up for Lestrade to see.

“…” The man stared at said item for a few seconds. “It’s my toaster.”

The Doctor made a face, clearly unimpressed with Lestrade’s response. “TARSTER, Gregory, TARSTER! It’s not a toaster anymore.” He lowered the painted toaster down, still sulking. “You should remember that, or else I’m going to think you’re starting to get senile and then that wouldn’t be very fun.”

Lestrade rolled his eyes, but decided not to comment any more on that particular topic. “So what are you doing with my… with the TARSTER?” Since the Doctor seemed to have taken it out from its spot on the counter, plug and all.

For a few moments the Doctor blinked, somehow looking lost on the question, but seemed to remember quickly enough and broke into another smile. “Ah, yes,” he started, holding up the toaster once more. “Would you mind if I brought the TARSTER with me? It would be a great fit in the kitchen. A TARSTER for the TARDIS!” he was beaming now. “A match made in—well, it’s a very good match. Surely you agree on this.”

No, Lestrade didn’t see how he could agree on this, considering that this was his toaster, but he also knew it was no use arguing with the Doctor over this. The man sighed and rubbed his jaw this time; he’d just have to get a new toaster when he returned, he supposed. “…fine. You can take it.”

The Doctor’s face instantly lit up when Lestrade gave his consent, smiling from ear to ear as he did a celebratory spin with the toaster. “I knew you’d see things my way eventually,” he went when he had finished his spin, still smiling very brightly towards Lestrade. “The TARSTER will be a fine addition to the TARDIS—” the Doctor paused then to turn over to the spaceship/time machine in question, patting the doorframe before continuing. “—and you’ll like the TARSTER, won’t you, Old Sexy?”

Lestrade wasn’t sure how he was going to take the Doctor constantly speaking to the TARDIS like that—but everyone had their quirks, he supposed, and it wasn’t the first time he had seen people (or well, human-like people) talk to their own things. It was just going to be one of those things he had to get used to. The Doctor was the one who was going to bring him out of here, after all. This was just one of the small things he had to live with in return. As long as it didn’t get strange. Then again, considering aliens were involved here… strange was possibly going to be a norm for him sooner or later.

But he could deal with all of that in time. Lestrade adjusted the duffel at his shoulder and cleared his throat pointedly, getting the Doctor’s attention. “If you’re done…” he started, giving one more chance for the Doctor to—well, do something; whatever he still wanted to do while they were on Earth, or his last chance to take back his invitation. Lestrade wouldn’t blame him if the Doctor decided on the latter—he had every reason to, really.

“Hm?” the Doctor went in response, blinking in confusion for a moment before he realized what the question was. “Oh, yes, of course.” He tucked the painted toaster under his arm and took a step back, gesturing to the open doors of the TARDIS with a sweeping wave of his other hand. “After you, then.”

The man gave an inquisitive gaze at the action, but shook his head after spending a few seconds to think about it. It was probably one of those alien things he didn’t know about or something. It didn’t matter in the long run anyway, not with the things that were in store for him. He spared a moment to incline his head in return to the Doctor’s gesture before stepping towards the TARDIS, pausing at the threshold of his flat and the ship as he turned back and looked at his place one more time. While he technically might be back within the next few minutes, the in-between was going to be a lot longer than anybody could imagine. Weeks, months, possibly even _years_ —who knew how long it would be before he actually was back proper.

And perhaps… this could possibly even be the last time. Lestrade wasn’t going be all morbid about it, but the possibility was still there. One would never really know when going on a journey like this—the last twenty four hours had been mad enough, and now he was going to be at this nearly full-time. There was no way he could be certain about anything, besides the fact that it was going to be an experience of a lifetime. For good or for worse though, that was what he was going to find out now.

Bringing his gaze down to the teacup that was still simmering from the table, Lestrade quirked his lips at the sight of it for one more moment before he turned to the Doctor and nodded before entering the TARDIS properly.

Even though he was already expecting it, the man still couldn’t help but blink at the _largeness_ of the inside, because it was just too surreal to get used to yet. That, too, would change in time, but for now Lestrade did his best to stop himself from gawking too much as he went over to the consoles. He placed his duffel bag on the chair and started to pace around the controls, attempting not to stare excessively at what would be his home (for a lack of a better term) for the next only god knew how long. Behind him he could hear the doors of the TARDIS closing, and Lestrade turned around to see the Doctor making his way up to the consoles as well, twirling after coming up the last step.

“So!” the Doctor started with an excited look on his features, eyes practically twinkling with promise. “Anywhere and everywhere, whenever and wherever across all of time and space. Where do you want to start?”

Where did he want to start? Lestrade didn’t even know how to begin on something like _this_. This was all so vast, so gigantic, so many choices and places to think about and choose and it was—how could he ever decide on where and how to start? The man ran finger through his hair, tugging momentarily at the strands as he attempted to figure out an answer to the question; an attempt that didn’t really manage to go through. “…I don’t have a bloody clue,” he was forced to admit after a minute of deliberation. He honestly, really couldn’t. At all.

Fortunately, the Doctor’s response was to smile yet again, looking completely understanding. “It’s always hard the first time, but it’ll get easier once you’re in the swing of things,” he replied, already moving closer to the controls. “We can let Old Sexy bring us somewhere first and then decide where to go from there. What do you say?”

Lestrade considered that for a moment before he nodded, accepting the proposal. “Sounds good to me.” Not that he was sure that he would be more used to it by then, but every little bit of time helped. Maybe he would think of somewhere to go then. Or maybe he wouldn’t. The time would come when it did, and Lestrade would still be there for it. With that in mind, the man gestured to the TARDIS consoles. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

“The more correct answer should be ‘lead the way, Old Sexy’, but she’ll forgive you for it this time.” The Doctor spun around once more, stepping to the correct set of controls as he passed the toaster (or the TARSTER, he supposed) over to Lestrade. “Now, hold this for a bit.”

Lestrade blinked, surprised by the request, but did as asked regardless, taking the painted appliance from the other. Once the man had done so the Doctor started to move around, keying in the settings for the TARDIS, running around the console with a constant twist in his step to push buttons and pull levers and typing out something on the typewriter device. Lestrade followed the Doctor for a while before deciding that he looked pretty stupid holding the toaster like that and so moved to put it alongside his duffel bag on the chair.

“Alright, now that we’re all packed and ready to go—” Lestrade turned back around to see the Doctor’s hands at the big lever with the shiny lights, grinning like a kid on Christmas day. “—it’s time to start the trip of a lifetime! Goodbye, London; hello, _everything_.”

With that said, the Doctor sharply pulled the lever down, and the TARDIS lurched momentarily before that familiar _whoop whoop whoop_ noise began to ring across the area. As they left he could hear the Doctor’s excited laugh as the TARDIS moved into the wide reaches of time and space itself, and Lestrade couldn’t help but quirk a smile of his own. They were leaving now— _he_ was leaving now—and rather than fear Lestrade only felt anticipation and excitement and thrill over what would be waiting for him in this big, wide universe. There was going to be danger, and it was probably never going to be totally safe—but it was going to be amazing, and it was going to be fantastic. And perhaps amazing and fantastic was what he needed right now to help him move on with life.

Still, regardless of anything—it was going to be a trip of the lifetime.

* * *

In Lestrade’s flat, a small red light blinked in the darkness as the TARDIS started to fade from sight—but before it vanished entirely the light from the TARDIS’s roof lit up the lounge momentarily. In that one spilt second before the place was dark again something glinted at the corner of the flat, and if anybody looked hard enough in that corner they would find a CCTV camera that had been cleverly hidden since its installation.

That CCTV camera watched on, utterly unmoving as it recorded the TARDIS disappearing right in the room itself. It had recorded that, along with everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours and then some. For the camera had already been there for a while, catching Gregory Lestrade’s every action and word in his house… and now had caught him going off with a madman in a big blue police box to places far beyond this planet, far beyond this galaxy.

For all that would happen soon enough, only this CCTV camera and its mysterious owner would ever bear witness to what would be the start of the adventures of Gregory Lestrade and the Eleventh Doctor—the beginning of something amazing, and something that would be absolutely life-changing for all parties involved.

FIN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yes! This story might be over, but the adventures of Lestrade and Eleven have only just begun.
> 
> Initially this fic was born out from some crack ideas formed between me and a friend of mine, and then it more or less exploded into something else entirely. It was quite a challenge writing this, since I've only very recently got into Doctor Who and have never written either of these characters before - and the Doctor is, without a doubt, one of the most challenging characters to write. Still, I hope that I did them justice, just as I hope that you guys have enjoyed this entire story!
> 
> As you might have noticed, there are sort of... plans to continue writing for this verse. Honestly I'm not too sure if I'll be able to do it, considering the ever expanding scale of said plans, but I do hope to attempt it, at the very least and see where I can go with it. And, well - if you guys do want to read more about the adventures of Lestrade and Eleven, feel free to leave a comment here! Any other comments and whatnot are also perfectly acceptable, of course, so don't hesitate to leave those here as well.
> 
> On a final note, this fic is dedicated to several people: the many NaNoers who have supported me throughout the month as I was writing this, including the amazing MLs who made NaNo possible here; my friend who inspired me to write this in the first place and everyone else who had to put up with my endless rambling about this fic.
> 
> With all of that said, have a Merry Christmas plus a great new year's, and hopefully I see you guys sometime soon in 2013. ♥


End file.
